The Thimble's Return
by chibikeeper
Summary: As he did many times before, Peter peeks through the nursery window. This time, he is caught by Wendy, and she convinces him to stay a night. A chain of events occur that set Wendy and Peter on an adventure to save the fairies and Wendy's London! FINISHED
1. A Return Capture

Peter Pan lingered outside the nursery window. The winter's first snow had fallen, leaving a cold white across the steepled city. His dirty feet left muddy footprints in the snow, showing those who cared to notice that indeed, Nanna had been barking at something, and she was not old and senile. He crept closer to the window, the window shut from the cold. He wanted to go inside, to sit by the fire that burned in the nursery furnace. He could see Wendy, asleep in her bed, eight smaller beds lined against the walls. Eight smaller figures stirred in their sleep, their senses telling them to awake, that their beloved leader was once again outside their bedroom window. But they never woke when their senses ordered them to do so as they were in the Neverland of their dreams. Their dreams were as vivid as Neverland itself, and they relied on the dreams of Neverland to remind them on what they had once been. Wendy, however, never dreamt of Neverland the way it was. She always dreamt it as she thought it was now, that Hook was gone, and Peter had returned to Neverland.   
  
Many nights she had spent staring into the stars, trying to remember which one was the passage way to Neverland. She remembered the address, "Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning!" as well as she remembered her own name, but she could not remember which star was the right, or which was the second. She sometimes wondered if she had ever been able to identify it, in the initial trip to Neverland. She felt that the directions were lost upon someone who was following Peter, who knew his way through the cosmos better than anyone in both worlds.   
  
Peter crossed his legs, and floated in the seated position a few feet above the balcony floor. He never liked the cold, but he felt that if he imagined that he was warm, imagining with all of his being, that he would indeed feel as if he had his own toasty fire warming his frigid bones. The cold had never bothered him before, when he had sat outside the window, listening to the stories of Cinderella and Snow White. After he had left Wendy and the Lost Boys to London, he had never planned to return. He felt it better if he remembered Wendy the way she had been - young and beautiful, full of imagination. He did not want to see her age, as he knew she inevitably would, and go into the world of suitors and parties, only to be separated by the way of the world as she changed and evolved into a beautiful woman, her hidden kiss waiting for him - a kiss he knew he would never be able to have, as long as he was Peter Pan, and she was Wendy Darling.   
  
He worked his dirty fingers under the knob that was the end of the lock on the window. The cold iron pressed into his fingertips, leaving rust colored indentions upon his hands. The lock pushed free, with only a small squeal of iron on iron, as rust broke free. He remembered Wendy telling him once, that the window would always be unlocked, if he ever cared to return - for the stories she assured him. It pained him to think that she had forgotten the promise, so he amounted the locked window to Mrs.Darling's carelessness. Wendy was never one to break a promise, and it was very likely that Mrs.Darling had indeed not known of the promise between them, and locked the window. He slid the large pane upwards, remembering how heavy it had seemed before. Once he had achieved enough room to get through, he crawled through, as he did not want to hit the creaky spot if he were to open it all the way. The creaking spot was one detail he remembered quite well, as he had narrowly escaped Nanna's snapping jaws numerous times when he had snuck into the nursery, when it was occupied by three.   
  
He turned quickly as a long sigh escaped Wendy's lips.   
  
"Peter?" Wendy whispered, her sleep-filled eyes clouded with dreams still swimming in her head. "I dreamed you returned...I've had this dream many times before. I shall resign this dream, as I know it cannot be."   
  
Her small speech was followed with another sigh, though this one was filled with sorrow, and not the dreamy quality of the first. Peter remained frozen for moments after she had apparently drifted back to sleep. Feeling that he was once again safe to roam the room, he tip-toed to her bedside.   
  
Her hair was spread like a halo around her face. She had not changed since his last visit. That comforted his lonely heart. If she had not changed, then maybe there was still a chance that he could be with her. He risked exposing his presence as he sat on the edge of her bed. Her auburn hair softly glowing against the soft, pale complexion of the girl he had often dreamt of. Her perfect lips were placed neatly on top of eachother, the hidden kiss creeping out of the right corner, as if luring Peter to take what belonged to him.   
  
He leaned down, his face nearly six inches from hers, resisting the temptation to return the thimble she had given him on the Jolly Roger, not so long ago. He had longed for another thimble since she had returned to her city of skyscrapers and fog. He had spent many nights outside her window, watching as she stared into the night. He was careful to conceal his presence every time, unlike this visit. He had yearned to see her face not marred by the distortion of Victorian glass, nor her large, wonderful eyes glistening with unshed tears. His boy's mind liked to have pretended that he did not know why Wendy cried, but his heart knew why she had cried, and made him, yes, the great Peter Pan, want to cry also. But he had resisted, assuring himself that he would see her again someday, and she would no longer be crying of sadness, but of joys that he did not know.   
  
He leaned closer, giving in to the temptation that had lived in him for what he though was forever. His lips grazed hers, and he imitated all that he had remembered from the thimble she had given him. He would have liked to consider this thimble a returning of the favor. But alas, once again, he knew in his heart of hearts otherwise.   
  
He was jerked from his thoughts as a small squeak escaped from the creature below him. His first instinct was to fly up, and he did so, straight into the ceiling, nearly cracking his skull on the painted cloud. Wendy had sat straight up in her bed, her fingers lightly touching her lips.   
  
"If this were a dream, I would not have felt that kiss!" She whispered excitedly.  
  
"A kiss? That was no kiss! It was a thimble!" Peter replied somewhat indignantly, slowly descending down to the nursery floor.   
  
"Peter, you are really here? I am not dreaming that I felt the ki- the thimble?" Wendy asked, her large clear eyes no longer clouded with sleep, but full of curiousity and wonder.   
  
"Would you like to be dreaming?" Peter asked, wondering if there was actually a correct answer to this question.   
  
"Peter, you haven't changed a bit! No, I wish to be awake, and you to really be in my nursery, standing there in front of me." Wendy told him with a giggle.   
  
"Well, then, yes, you are awake." Peter answered quizzically, having no idea where this conversation was headed, or what she had meant.  
  
"Oh, joy! I had wished you would come back. I wished every night since we returned. Have you done the same for me?" Wendy asked, leaving her bed, her white nightgown falling to her ankles, a luminous glow surrounding her.   
  
"Why does that matter?" He asked, backing away as she started towards him. "I wished to see you, so I came."  
  
"Have you been here before? Nanna is always barking, at night, and the neighbors are starting to complain. Father says it is because she is old, but I told him that it was because you were visiting us. He laughed at that, but I thought it was true, and it was!" Wendy chattered excitedly, her formerly pale cheeks now full of a rosy hue. "Do you plan to return to Neverland, or will you stay? Oh, won't you stay? Even for just a night, the boys have missed you terribly. Mother would like to meet you, and I'm sure Father and Aunt Millicent will be just as excited!"  
  
Peter tried to remain confident, but all of her chatter was starting to make him lightheaded. Was he to stay in London? Even if it were just for a few days? He would not mind seeing the boys again, he missed them almost as much as he had missed Wendy. What unnerved him was the possibility of staying in London for good. He reminded himself that he was always to be a boy, and to have fun, but as Wendy's questions began to seep in, and their meaning understood, he began to wonder if even Neverland could save him from growing up.   
  
"I-I do not know what I will do." He stammered, his blue eyes round with puzzlement. "I-I...I.."  
  
"You what, Peter?" Wendy asked, trying to hide the tiny smile that was creeping up on her. She had never seen him so bewildered.   
  
"I-I...oh, nevermind." He muttered, trying to save some of his dignity after all of the stuttering.   
  
The large clocktower (Big Tim, Peter thought it was called) bonged the three o'clock hour to them. Peter wondered how long her had been in London. He had not bothered to check the time before leaving Neverland, because it entailed that you would track the crocodile down, and wait near it until the hour chimed. he had not wanted to waste that time.   
  
"Peter, it is dreadfully late. Tomorrow is a Tuesday, so I will have to go to school. Mother might let me stay home tomorrow, if you stay with us, but I need to rest, in case you are not here when I wake up. Tell me, Peter, will you be here when I awake?" Wendy asked, trying to hide the sadness that crept in her voice.   
  
"I-I...I will be here, Wendy." Peter replied assertively, nodding his head.   
  
"Thank you, Peter! Thank you!" She rushed at him, hugging him hard, and taking him by surprise. "You may sleep wherever you wish tonight, and I will see you in the morning!"  
  
Wendy crawled under her heavy comforter, smiling broadly all the while. Peter sat at the foot of her bed, watching her until she fell asleep. Once he was sure she was asleep, he started to creep toward the window, hoping to make a quick escape. He turned to glance at his Wendy, and he realized that he could not leave her. He had told her that he would be with her in the morning, and he did not plan to break that promise. Peter Pan was always good for his word.   
  
Upon his decision to stay, Peter looked about the nursery for a place to sleep. He glanced on all of the nine beds, noting how civil Wendy appeared in her sleep, while his Lost Boys were splayed about as if they were tossed ragdolls. He spotted a blanket folded on the shelf, and the empty space at the end of Wendy's bed. He retrieved the blanket, and spread it out. To his surprise, it appeared to be some sort of quilt. Tiny stitches covered the large top, takinng two glancces to be recognized as a map of Neverland. Peter could easily identify every landmark on the map, and noted that the large rectangular map was lined with figures. Each figure had a different appearance, and under each figure was a name, stitched as neatly as the figure themselves. He recognized each of the Lost Boys (he recognized their appearances, not their names, as he could only spell his own name and Wendy's, as Wendy had taught him in their adventures), Tootles, Nibs, Slightly, Curly, Twins, John and Michael. In the corner, there were two unfinished figures. The names had already been stitched, but the figures themselves were only half finished. WENDY AND PETER was stitched as carefully as could be, underneath the two figures. In the opposite corner, initials had been stitched. He recognized the letters (he could not spell or read to save his life, but he did know the alphabet - once again, as Wendy had taught him) to be W M A D. He had no clear idea what these letters meant, but he knew that Wendy started with a W, and also had a D in it, but these letters did not spell WENDY. Purely mystified, he settled on not dwelling on it, and tried to remind himself to ask Wendy about it in the morning. In the meantime, he was ready to sleep. He told himself that he was staying in London because he was too tired to fly back to Neverland. He carefully flew above Wendy's bed, and sdoftly deposited himself at the foot of her bed, curling up like a small kitten, and covering himself with the quilt.   
  
Once he was comfortable, he settled into a calm sleep. A calm sleep that was all too soon interrupted by the shrill shouts and squeals of eight little boys, all too happy to see that their leader (former make-believe father, and the love of a brother) had returned to them.   
  
"Peter has returned!" 


	2. Awaken At Dawn

Slightly was the first to wake that morning. Slightly woke quite early every morning, secretly stowing to the rooftop, shooting at pigeons with his bow and arrow. Of course, all of the children knew of Slightly and his habit, but since he never killed anything, they all thought it quite decent for him to maintain that behavior. They were all quite sure that Mr. and Mrs.Darling nor Aunt Millicent would most certainly not feel the same way.   
  
When he awoke that morning, he felt as if he were twenty pounds lighter than when he had gone to sleep. As he opened his bleary eyes, he realized that he was lying on the ceiling! If it is possible that one may lie on the ceiling, I suppose it is just the opposite of lying on the floor. Well, Slightly was doing just that! Of course, he had forgotten how to fly altogether, having been the first thing he had forgotten when he had left Neverland. It gave him such a fright that he fell straight down again, landing square in his bed. He was so shaken at the experience, for, you must remember that he could not recollect flying at all. His eyes welled up with tears, before he swiped them away in a very boyish manner.   
  
"I suppose it was just a nightmare." Slightly muttered resignedly. He glanced around at his cousins, brothers, friends, or whatever you might call them, noticing that all of their beds were empty.   
  
He cringed as he quickly shot a look up to the ceiling, squealed at the sight, and buried his head in his blankets.   
  
"Now I must be dreaming!" He exclaimed, pulling the comforter tight over his head.   
  
"Hello!"  
  
Slightly heard a boyish voice, and thinking he had finally awaken, he pulled the blanket from his head.   
  
"What kind of trick are you playing, Nibs? It ain't funny!" Slightly whined, before seeing that the person he was speaking to was in fact not Nibs, as Nibs was still lying on the ceiling.   
  
"Hello, Slightly." Peter grinned like a Cheshire Cat. "Did you miss me?"  
  
"W-Who are you?!" Slightly squealed again, sounding more like a girl by the minute. "G-Go away or I'll get Nanna!"  
  
"Don't you remember me?" Peter asked the little boy, a hurt look clouding his eyes. "You remember the Lost Boys?"  
  
"I was a Lost Boy once...You...You're..You're Peter!" Slightly exclaimed suddenly, throwing aside his blankets and leaping onto the older boy. "Peter, your back! We've all missed you!"  
  
"Slightly, do shut up..You're too loud!" John complained, before his foggy vision registered the aerial view. "Bloody 'ell!"  
  
John cursed (a rare event for a Darling) before falling onto his bed. His face changed from groggy to purely baffled as he bounced on his bed. It seemed as if on cue, the other Lost Boys awoke, realizing their peculiar situations, crashed down again, once again victims of gravity.   
  
"Peter! Peter's back!" They all squealed at least once, "Peter has returned!"  
  
Wendy, who had become used to the squeals and yells that come with sharing a room with eight little boys, had not yet woke from her blissful sleep. She dreamt, for the umpteenth time, that Peter Pan had returned. When she finally awoke, the nursery was full of laughter and shouts. Eight little boys gathered in a circle, sitting in the center of the floor, laughing as though they had never heard anything so amusing. In the center of their circle was Peter. Wendy was at first baffled as to why he was there, but soon after she thought that, the events of the night returned to her. She was at once filled with joy at the return of Peter, but also with a slight pang of sadness, accompanied by questions of how long would he stay.   
  
"Wendy!" Peter exclaimed suddenly, leaping up (flying up, rather) over the circle of boys and standing on he bedrail. "You're awake! You sleep harder than a croc!"  
  
"Oh? And how would you know how hard a croc sleeps?" Wendy smiled in spite of herself, sitting up.   
  
"I was just getting to that!" He turned and flew as gracefully as he had left back into the center of the circle. "So there I was...Hook on my left, the croc on my right. Both of them, after my blood." The boys oohed and aahed at this point. "I swiped with my sword, and off went Hook's left hand! The croc jumped at me, ready to swallow me whole! I knew what I had to do, so I tossed Hook's hand into the croc's monstrous jaws!"  
  
The boys' eyes were wider than ever at this point, despite that they had heard this story on countless nights in their days as Lost Boys.   
  
"What next, Peter? What did Hook do?" Michael asked eagerly, holding Teddy close to his chest.  
  
"Why, what would you do if you had just had your hand cut off?" Peter made a swiping motion across his wrist. "You'd scream like a codfish!"  
  
The boys laughed at that, getting louder as Peter went on to imitate the howls, leaping from wall to wall of the nursery, his face in a twist of mock-pain.   
  
Wendy, ever the responsible one, giggled to herself. "Peter, Peter, we mustn't wake Mother and Father."  
  
"Wendy, will they let Peter stay? Will they?" Curly asked the older girl, his large brown eyes pleading.   
  
"Yes, can he stay?" A chorus of the phrase repeated, followed with a resounding "PLEASE??"  
  
"Well, I don't know. I am sure they would not mind, but it all depends on whether Peter would like to stay or not." Wendy replied, shifting her penetrating gaze to Peter, who stared back dumbly. "It's Peter's decision."   
  
"I-I...Last one out the window is a codfish!" He rapidly changed the subject, smiling nervously.  
  
He flew to the window, flung it open and flew out into the cold London morning. Shouts of hurrahs followed his leap, and soon Tootles was on the balcony, completely forgetting that he had lost his ability to fly. He jumped out, shouting and hurrah-ing the entire time, only making it a few feet, before gravity took hold of his plump body and brought him down. When he realized that he was falling, he let out a girlish shriek, trying vainly to grasp something to stop his fall.   
  
"PETER!" Wendy cried, hurdling over beds and children to the open window. "Tootles cannot fly!"  
  
Peter, hearing Wendy's cry, dove downwards towards the nursery window. As he turned, he spotted Tootles gracelessly plunging towards the cold, snow covered sidewalk. He immediately lunged downward as fast as his magic could take him. He grabbed a hold of Tootles' ankle, yanking him up to try to stop the soft childs' fall. Tootles was somewhat of a large child, as you may know, and being of the heavy nature that he was, he was much harder to stop. Peter had to put his feet straight out in front of him, as if he were skidding along the ground, and not yanking someone from gravity's grasp.   
  
Tootles nose grazed the snow, his eyes wide with fright. He blinked furiously, trying to shoo away the tears that had formed. Peter lifted Tootles by the ankle, laying him to rest on the balcony, face down in the snow.   
  
"What's he doing?" Peter asked quizzically, noticing the red tinge circling the boy's eyes.  
  
"Why, Peter, you don't know do you? He's crying...I suppose you don't remember." Wendy answered, thinking about what else he might have forgotten.   
  
"Why's he crying? He didn't hit the ground - I saved him!" Peter said, his eyebrows knitted together. "Wendy, that shall be one of your stories! You will understand."   
  
With that statement, Peter sat down in front of her, crossed his legs, and looked at her expectantly. He too had been forgetting specifics of their adventures. He came to the nursery window when his thoughts were at their foggiest, to hear the stories Wendy told about their adventures. He had forgotten tears, although he knew too well what sadness and disappointment were. Though he did not know what fright was. For Peter Pan was never scared of anything. Well, he had only been scared once in his life - when he had thought he had lost Wendy. But he had forgotten the fear, and all that remained of the experience was a deep sadness within.   
  
"Peter, it is nearly eight o'clock in the morning! This is no time for me to be telling stories. We cannot be late for school." Wendy replied, ever feeling a responsibility to the boys to make sure they got to school on time.   
  
"Wendy, where shall Peter go while we are at school?" John asked squarely never one to beat around the bush. "I don't suppose he could stay here."  
  
"Mother and Father shall soon know he is here, so I suggest we let them decide on where he shall go." Wendy said thoughtfully, two fingers resting on her cheek. "Come now, boys, get dressed. School is one of the few things that does not wait on Peter Pan."   
  
Only John, Slightly, and Nibs understood her joke, stifling giggles as they retrieved their trousers and shirts from the closet. Peter, on the other hand, did not understand the joke at all, and thought it rather foolish of them to laugh at something that he did not understand.  
  
The boys lined up, oldest to youngest, retrieving their uniforms from the closet. The uniforms were all neatly pressed and hung, lined in order from the biggest to the littlest. Tootles, being undoubtedly the biggest, was always first, followed by Curly, Nibs, John, Slightly, the Twins, and Michael. They filed neatly in a row, retrieving their clothes and going to their beds. Peter was fascinated by the mechanics of this simple happening, that he had not realized that Wendy had disappeared from his sight.   
  
"Where's Wendy?" He asked, glancing around, peeking under beds.  
  
"She's just behind that partition, Peter." John answered matter-of-factly. "Father and Mother insisted that she have her own dressing room, even if she were to stay in the nursery with us."  
  
Peter was surprised to find what he had thought was a decorative wall to be a folding screen, folded out in a corner, producing a small closeted area for Wendy to change.   
  
"Wendy? Are in there?" Peter flew up above the partition, looking over.  
  
Surprised by what he saw (a half-naked Wendy, if it is decent to say), he was too stupid to avert his eyes, or even to get down. So it is completely understandable that Wendy had shrieked.   
  
"Peter!" Wendy shrieked, throwing her stockings at him. "Don't look!"  
  
The Lost Boys stifled their laughter, as Peter's features turned from their usual tone to a very prominent red. Peter stared dumbly at the flowered papering of the partition, causing the Lost Boys to lose their grip on suppressing their laughter. They burst into a fit of mirth at their leader's ineptitude of the meaning of privacy between girls and boys. Of course, they did not dwell long enough on the reason of their glee to come upon such a reason as that. They merely thought it funny that Peter had seen Wendy changing. 


	3. Morning In Hiding

Wendy, soon dressed and blushing only a bit, hurried the boys along. If she had not done it, I fear they would have continued laughing at Peter until they all grew old and died, for they thought they had never seen anything so funny in their lives. Which seeming as they were all quite young, could have been very possible.   
  
Once the boys were dressed, Wendy lined them up once more, entrancing Peter with their queer order of doing things in such a neat and organized fashion. Wendy made sure they all had their shirts tucked in, their trousers buttoned, their hair brushed, their face washed, and last of all, their hands. It had been a horror of a trial to teach the Lost Boys to wash their hands. Even John and Michael, not Lost Boys by heart, were not troubled by dirty hands or faces. They did not care. Wendy, on the other hand, cared quite a lot. As any good mother would know, it is a reflection upon themselves when their children are shown in public with dirty hands and faces. Wendy, ever the maternal older sister, would have been dreadfully ashamed of herself if it seemed that she were not taking sufficient care of the boys in the nursery, and feared that a discovery such as that would make them think her ill fit to stay in the nursery, being that she was a girl of her age, and that she was too wrapped up in her own issues to deal with their little boy nonsense.  
  
Which of course, that was entirely not the case. She cared deeply for the boys, and loved playing to their needs. Her stay in Neverland had not left her mind since their return, and her short time as their "mother" had stuck with her. But she was very glad to leave the position to someone experienced and very good at it - Mrs.Darling.   
  
Now, Peter, thinking he would join this odd train, lined up right with them. He stuck out of the bunch like a sore thumb, with his tousled hair, leaves for clothing, and dirty hands, face, and feet. A part of him would have liked to have pretended to be clean and proper for London as the other boys, but another part of him remembered a time when he ordered the Lost Boys to abandon weaving cloth of leaves, for that would leave them to resemble his attire, which in his little boy's mind meant that they would be just like him, erasing his individuality as Peter Pan. Although that sort of logic may seem a little insecure (alright, it is insecure), Peter had mixed feelings on the subject now.   
  
"Peter, do you plan on attending school?" Wendy smiled in spite of herself at the question.  
  
"I do not want to go to school, but if you wish me to go with you, then I shall." Peter answered, once again crossing his legs and floating a few feet above ground in such a position.   
  
"Oh, Peter, you cannot go with me! I go to a school for girls!" Wendy laughed, imagining Peter attending her girls' school.   
  
"Why must you go to school? Can you not go to Kensington Gardens with me, all of you? I can show you the secrets that only the fairies know!" Peter smiled broadly, his eyes lighting up as he told tales of his adventures in Kensington Gardens, and where the fairies dwelled.   
  
"Fairies, but fairies don't -" Peter cupped his hand over Michael's mouth before the words came out.   
  
"Never say that. Every time a person says that a fairy somewhere drops down dead." Peter's light was gone from his eyes and a dark seriousness had replaced it. "Never say that."  
  
"Peter, Michael has forgotten some things. He sometimes forgets them, but then when I am telling them a story, he will remember clear as day." Wendy told him, trying to comfort the sullen boy. "He will remember the fairies later."  
  
She turned to the boys. "Now, in order to apologize to the fairy king and queen for almost killing one of their folk, you all must repeat after me: 'I do believe in fairies, I do, I do'. Now you must all say it twice."   
  
The boys replied with gusto, Tootles getting so excited he nearly lost his breath. Poor Tootles was always getting into some sort of trouble. As you may or maynot know, he was not the brightest chap, but he had a good heart, and always tried to do the right thing. Once Wendy was sure that Peter was satisfied with their apology, she continued scrutinizing their dress.   
  
Once she was satisfied, she smiled and nodded, and the boys, taking this signal, tromped through the hallway and the stairs to the dining room, where Mrs.Darling and Aunt Millicent awaited them, with nine bowls of hot oatmeal. Wendy waited until they had all left the room before she turned and addressed Peter.  
  
"I would so love to go to Kensington Gardens with you, really, I would. But how am I to escape school without Mother finding me out?" Wendy asked, her brow wrinkled in thought.  
  
"I shall think of a plan." Peter replied confidently, although he had no idea as to how to rescue Wendy from school.   
  
Downstairs, the dining room was full of activity. The nine boys were all telling the tale of Peter Pan's reappearance to an amused Mrs.Darling and a very baffled Aunt Millicent. Aunt Millicent had long forgotten the adventures of Wendy, Michael, and John, upon which they returned with eight little boys. She was convinced that Mrs.Darling had given birth to them all, and could not be convinced otherwise.   
  
"Children, really. I thought you had grown of such nonsense." Aunt Millicent told them sharply, earning a disapproving look from Mrs.Darling.   
  
"Now, Millicent, they are children. A healthy imagine is just that - healthy." Mrs.Darling countered, smiling lovingly upon her children, the hidden kiss shining.   
  
"Mother, really, he's here! He's upstairs, right now! With Wendy!" Twin told her, the other Twin nodding all the while.   
  
"If he's really up there, then I shall have to tell him it is not polite to not introduce oneself to the mother of the house." She smiled a teasing smile, turning her flowing skirts towards the stairs. "Wendy? Breakfast is ready!"  
  
Wendy quickly tied her ribbon in her hair. "Coming Mother!" She called. "Peter, I will meet you outside when we leave for school. Nanna takes the boys to their school, and I walk alone. Get dressed in these," She laid out a pair of trousers and a button-up shirt, "And wait up here. When you see me leave in a different direction than the boys, you can come down. No sooner. Nanna would like to have eaten you."  
  
Peter absorbed this all, concentrating on not being disgusting by the trousers and shirt. He nodded, and waved her off. He had learned enough in that morning of privacy to believe that he too needed to be left alone for dressing.   
  
Wendy skipped down the stairs, smiling, trying not to reveal the fact that she had an adolescent boy dressing in her nursery.   
  
"Good morning, Mother, good morning, Aunt." Wendy nodded politely, before sitting down at the table.   
  
"So, the boys tell me that we have a visitor. Where is he?" Mother smiled, winking at Wendy.   
  
Wendy, who was quite flustered initially, calmed as she realized her mother did not believe that Peter was indeed in their house.   
  
"OH, they're so silly sometimes. I told them stories last night, and well, you know. Their imaginations get the best of them!" She laughed nervously, before hungrily sweeping down her oatmeal.   
  
Mrs.Darling smiled, not the slightest bit reassured. She knew that the boys had imaginations (she could swear she had seen them flying once) but occasionally she remembered odd things about before the children had disappeared to places unknown. She remembered when they had gone, and when they had reappeared, with the Lost Boys in tow. But she seemed to have forgotten all that was in between. She did not remember the odd swords she had found, nor the jewels and gold and pearls that Michael had produced out of his hat - in fact, she did not know where he had gotten the hat!   
  
"Hurry now, you'll be late for school." Mrs.Darling said, sashaying to the entryway. "Coats!" She called, all eight boys leaving their places at the table and lining up (single file, of course) in the entry way.  
  
Mrs.Darling helped each one with their coats, kissed each of their foreheads, and told them that she loved them. Nanna waited patiently by the door, until all of the kisses had been given, and all of the coats were being worn.   
  
Then they set out for the new day. The London fog clouded the sun from view, leaving a mystical white glow to the day. Wendy followed soon after, her mother giving her an extra hug, before setting out for her school. Or at least so it seemed.  
  
Wendy left the house and turned to the right, as she always did on her way to school. But instead of continuing this path until she reached the London Girls Academy. She checked behind her, to see that no one was looking, before calling out to the window.  
  
"Peter!" She recieved no answer. "Peter, come down! We have to go!"  
  
Meanwhile, Peter was hiding on the ceiling.   
  
You see, as soon as the children left for school, Mrs.Darling had went upstairs to the nursery. Peter had heard her motherly footsteps (he could identify those doting steps from a mile away), giving him time to hide. He had already dressed in the atrocious (his opinion, my choice of words) clothes that Wendy had set out for him. As soon as he heard her steps, he darted to the ceiling. The door of the nursery opened into a small semi-entryway, before fanning out into the actual room. He had curled himself into the farthest corner of the semi-entryway, so that she would not see him when she entered, for he would be behind her.   
  
Indeed, she did not see him when she entered. She peeked cautiously around the door, before lifting her skirts and deciding to go in. Peter, who had no visual recollection of his mother, or any recollection of the one time he had set eyes upon Mrs.Darling, was intrigued by her maternal air. He was fascinated by the flowing skirts of lavender, with white lace petticoats peeking from beneath. He had never seen such devices, these petticoats, or at least he had not seen them to his knowledge.   
  
Mrs.Darling poked about the room, smoothing bedspreads, replacing toys in their chests, all the while searching for any sign of an unknown visitor. When she reached the final bed, Wendy's (for she went in a circle with things of this matter), she noticed an odd frock lying upon the spread. It was green of color, but the texture was what puzzled her so. It was cloth, to be sure, but it looked as if it were woven of moss, with leaves as the chosen attachements. It had worn bare on the right side, as though something had ripped through it. She picked up the threadbare article, holding it in her hands, before neatly folding it and tucking it under her arm. Peter was horrified.   
  
So horrified, in fact, that he nearly lost his concentration. He scraped his foot (bare, of course) against the door frame to maintain balance. Mrs.Darling swiveled on her heels to try and identify the cause of this mysterious noise.   
  
Luckily, Peter slid himself down behind the door. He felt quite odd, hiding like a child. He had never had to hide for fear of being found before. He had always hid for fear of being killed. But he hid anyway, for he knew that Wendy would not want him to be discovered.  
  
Mrs.Darling was sure she had heard the noise, but she shrugged her petite shoulders and went to leave the room. When she passed the doorway, she leaned on it, ever so gently. Not gently enough, I suppose, considering Peter felt as if his knees were to be crushed against eachother. She relented her lean when she heard a muffled grunt. She felt sure that someone was present behind the door. She turned and acted as if she were to leave the room, so as to catch this person by surprise.  
  
Of course, Mrs.Darling had no idea that this was not any ordinary intruder. Peter was not really an intruder at all, and he was most definitely not ordinary.  
  
Peter, hearing no footsteps, foolish pushed the door away, and went to leave through the window. Mrs.Darling cried out, dropping Peter's frock, when she turned to see this boy flying around her nursery. All in a wave, the memories came flooding back to her. She remembered where the children had gone and she remembered who they had been with.  
  
Peter Pan.   
  
Peter flew out of the window and down to sidewalk as fast as he could. His heart beat so fast it nearly leapt out of his chest. He spotted Wendy anxiously waiting behind a tree.   
  
"Peter! Get down here! Boys do not fly in London!" Wendy whispered hoarsely; the cold was getting to her. "Peter, your feet! You have no shoes!"  
  
"Do I need them?" Peter asked, landing quietly, nervously glancing back towards the open window.  
  
"Peter, why is the nursery window open?" Wendy asked him slowly, sure that the answer would send them both running.  
  
"Your mother was there, I think she may have seen me." Peter replied, his eyes darting from Wendy to the nursery window.  
  
"GEORGE!" The name shrieked through the open window to where the two children stood, causing them both to glance at eachother first, and then to take flight.  
  
Of course I do not mean flight as in flying. That is only a figure of speech. In actuality, the two children ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Peter struggled with the weight of gravity, his body yearning to be free of its bonds once more. But he knew that Wendy expected him to behave, so he did. They ran, and ran, until they found themselves at the Kensington Garden gates.   
  
Back at home, Mr. and Mrs.Darling were already discussing what to do about "that Peter character".  
  
"He has taken my daughter once, I shall not let it happen again!" Mr.Darling thundered, his usual nervous, jumpy persona gone.  
  
"George, should we wait until the other children return from school?" Mrs.Darling asked him, her own worry overwhelming, but she tried to stay calm for the sake of her empassioned husband.   
  
"No, I don't think that would be wise...We should go to the police. Go to the police now." Mr.Darling replied, his thundering rage gone, he now wrung his hands, nervously pacing. "Tell them we believe our daughter has runaway."  
  
"Runaway?" Mrs.Darling looked stricken at the thought.  
  
"Would you rather we tell them a flying boy who wears leaves took her?" 


	4. To The Fairies

Peter ran, and Wendy followed. The slush and snow did not slow him, and she refused to be left behind. Peter had said Mrs.Darling had seen him - so they knew that he was here, and knew that he and Wendy were going to be together. Wendy wondered if her parents even remembered Peter Pan. She thought they would, since grown ups seem to remember things better than children. This thought propelled her to run faster - she was running away again.   
  
Peter looked to his right at Wendy, and motioned for them to cross the street. He did not even spare a look at the oncoming trolleys, instead just running directly in front of them. Horns blared at this shoeless boy, darting between them. A little girl, glancing apologetically at the drivers, followed him. She was truly sorry for his behaviour, she wanted to tell them, he doesn't remember ever seeing a car. But alas, she could not tell them, so she must be satisfied with glancing apologetically.   
  
"Peter! Where are we going?" She asked, jogging to catch up with him, for he had slowed when he noticed how far behind she was lagging.   
  
"To Kensington Gardens. To see the fairies." He replied matter-of-factly, as if he had just stated what was painfully obvious.   
  
"Hide? Why would we - Fairies? Is Tinkerbell there?" Wendy asked, walking briskly along side him.  
  
"Tinkerbell?" He thought for a moment. "Oh, her. No. She is still in Neverland. I told her to stay behind."  
  
"Do you really think she'll listen to you?" Wendy asked him, rubbing her gloved hands together to warm them.  
  
"She must, or else I will banish her again." Peter said, and Peter believed.   
  
Wendy doubted that Tinkerbell ever listened to what Peter said. Tinkerbell was a very determined fairy: when Tink knew what she wanted, she went out and attempted to get it, whether she had Peter's permission or not. Wendy thought he must have forgotten about Tink for a moment because of all the things he was thinking about at the moment. Peter, like most children, thought about the here and now. In order for them to remember something in a week, month, or a year, you must make a deep impression on them. Indeed, Wendy and her brothers had done just that. Tinkerbell, despite being the one who found him and took him to Neverland, was not on his mind at this moment, so he had forgotten about her. One thing Wendy knew for sure - there was probably a fairy flying around London in search of Peter.   
  
They walked farther, never stopping until they reached the gates of Kensington Gardens. Wendy had not been to the Gardens for some time - she had forgotten how big it was!  
  
"Peter, where do the fairies live?" Wendy asked him, following him as he headed for a thickly forested area.   
  
"They live near the big water. Under the water." Peter replied, not noticing Wendy's startled expression.  
  
"U-Under the water? How are we to get to them then?" Wendy asked, dreading the answer she knew was coming.   
  
"Swim, of course." Peter answered simply, winding his way through trails that only he and the fairies knew.   
  
"But Peter, I cannot swim." Wendy said, following him closely.  
  
"I shall help you. Don't worry, Wendy, nothing bad can happen to you while you are with me." Peter said, smiling his cocky smile.   
  
Wendy could not help but smile. She did feel safe when she was with Peter, but she also felt that anything could happen, and that was not always so safe. She sighed, remembering that at least there were no pirates in London.  
  
They passed through a section of the wood that seemed much brighter than the others. Peter told her how her had lived in these very trees with the birds, and how they had taught him to fly - with the help of the fairies and their fairy dust, of course. For one can never fly without the aide of fairy dust.   
  
They soon came into a clearing, composed of a circle shape, about twenty feet in diameter, was left empty and bare. No grass grew in this small clearing. Wendy searched the landscape for life, but only found mushrooms. Tiny, perfectly capped mushrooms were scattered about the area.   
  
"Peter! Look, aren't they darling!" Wendy crouched to pluck one, but Peter quickly pulled her hand away.  
  
"Don't touch the mushrooms. They have fairy poison. It's only for grownups, but sometimes they change the rules." His serious look softened as he glanced about the trees. "Come on, we're almost there."  
  
Peter took her hand and led her on. Wendy could not help but wonder why Peter looked so wistful. He must be remembering the days when he lived here, thought Wendy. He must be remembering when this was home! She had always wondered what it would be like if she were to live in Kensington Gardens. She supposed it would be awfully cold at night, but if only she had a fairy to help her along. Fairy magic might keep you warm.   
  
When they had reached their destination, Wendy found that they were on the Northern border of the Round Pound. She surveyed her new surroundings, noticed that the pond was not frozen in this area, as it was on all parts of the pond. A warm glow radiated from this area, she noted as she glanced upon a blooming flower.   
  
"Wendy, you mustn't eat or drink anything in there. It's fairy food. It's toxic to humans. Even I cannot eat it." Peter said. "When I count to three, we will jump in. I can pull you down to the gates."  
  
"I can't breathe underwater, Peter!" Wendy exclaimed.   
  
"Neither can I." He grinned. "One, two, three!"  
  
They jumped.   
  
Wendy expected the water to be icy cold, but it was, in fact, of a warm temperature. At a squeeze of her hand, she opened her tightly closed eyes to see Peter pointing down. She nodded, and they started their journey down. It was not too far, only about six feet, before they came before a large door, set lying on the ground. Peter knocked on it, tapping certain places in the large door. At the last knock, it opened.  
  
The door was made of oak, heavy and solid, and it seemed to have opened by itself! Wendy was amazed. She almost made the mistake of opening her mouth to tell Peter what she thought of it, but thought better of it just in time. A bright light permeated from inside, before a sparkling shape of nearly eight inches appeared. Peter made a few motions with his hands that Wendy did not understand, but the fairy seemed to. The fairy led them down.   
  
Wendy nearly squealed in shock as she passed through the doorway. She was no longer swimming, she was lying on the floor! And she could breathe! Peter smiled at her, before giving her his hand. She also noticed that her clothes and hair were dry, just as Peter's were. She stood, the astonishment still visible on her face.   
  
"Is this...the fairy palace?" Wendy asked tentatively, grasping Peter's hand tight.   
  
"Yes, it is. I told him that we want to see the Fairy Queen. Actually, she sent for me." Peter said, trying to hide the butterlfies in his stomach.   
  
"Why did she send for you?" Wendy asked him, wondering why he looked so pale all of a sudden.  
  
"I think she wants me to relay a message to her son, the Fairy Prince. He lives in Neverland." Peter replied, not so sure that that was the answer.   
  
"Why are these hallways so big?" Wendy asked, once again amazed at the sheer height (or was it width?) of these hallways.  
  
"Fairies expect visitors bigger than themselves. They have links to the human world, and when the humans come to the palace, they must be able to fit." Peter said simply, his hand still holding Wendy's. "There was great mess once when a human friend of the fairies tried to get in. He couldn't fit, so he drowned."  
  
Wendy gasped. Peter could be so morbid sometimes, without realizing how ghastly it might sound to other children.  
  
The fairy guide led them to another large door, except these were not wood. They were gold. The guide squeaked and chirped, as Wendy had heard, and Peter squeaked and chirped right back. They were really speaking the fairy language - Wendy found it just enchanting.   
  
"We're going to see the Queen." Peter whispered to Wendy.  
  
She squeezed his hand.   
  
The door was opened.   
  
On dry land, far from the world of fairies and enchantment, Mr. and Mrs.Darling were frantically explaining their story to the police. With certain parts taken out for sheer sanity, of course.   
  
The story, as it was told to the police, was as follows: Wendy Moira Angela Darling was a good girl, who never got into trouble. She and her brothers (they said all eight of them, just to keep from explaining the whole story) ran away, and then returned some time later. Now the boy was back, and he had taken Wendy. They had to clarify that she had probably went of her own free will, for it would be quite odd if they found her playing happily in Kensington Gardens with the boy, being hunted like a captive.   
  
But alas, Peter and Wendy were not to be found in Kensington Gardens. And the police would never think to look under it.   
  
After the police had been notified of Wendy, Mr.Darling left for work. Despite that he would not be able to concentrate on figures and balance sheets with his daughter out somewhere in London with "that fiend". Mrs.Darling, on the other hand, stayed home and waited. She sat in the rocking chair by the window in the nursery, just as she had done when they were in Neverland.   
  
They trusted Wendy, and they knew she was a responsible young girl. They did not know Peter, but they did know that he had wanted Wendy to stay with him in Neverland. Mr.Darling had an absurd theory that Peter was going to brainwash her. Mrs.Darling laughed at him over that. Mrs.Darling had felt that notifying the police was going too far, but Mr.Darling had insisted, and Mrs.Darling finally relented in her refusal. If Wendy were to be seen on the streets, at least they would know she was safe.   
  
As most parents get when they do not know the whereabouts of their little ones, the Darlings were worried.   
  
Mrs.Darling fell asleep in the rocking chair, the clothes of leaves hugged to her chest. 


	5. A Startling Discovery

As the golden doors opened, Wendy was baffled by the beauty and enchantment contained in that single room. I would tell you what was in the room, but then, I would be revealing a well kept fairy secret. All non-fairies who enter the court are sworn to secrecy by their mere presence (another little bit of fairy magic)- the fairies, beautiful and mischievous, are also rather paranoid. They believe that if word got out of their wonderful treasures, their palace would be raided by man. Which is probably not far from the truth. But, as was said, there was not a grander a place to be found. I am allowed to tell you where the queen sat, for it is harmless to divulge such information. Her throne directly across the doorway, back about thirty feet.   
  
The queen was old - aged lines were scattered along her face. Her eyes were a clearest blue, full of youth and spirit. Behind the spirit, nestled between cleverness and youth, was wisdom. She had been the fairy queen for quite a long time, although no one can exactly determine how long. She wore a silver gossamer gown, adorned with hundreds of rare and precious fairy gems; her entire being put the Queen of England to shame.   
  
She beckoned to Peter and Wendy, smiling upon them as a doting grandmother would. Peter squeezed Wendy's hand before letting go and flying forward, leaving her to run behind him.   
  
"Ah, Peter, I see you have brought Wendy with you. As if I could have expected less." Her blue eyes sparkled. "I suppose you are wondering why I have called you here. I'd like to ask a favor of you."  
  
Peter wondered what a favor was. He had never had anyne to ask such things of him, and he did not know the meaning of the word. Wendy knew, and wondered why such a powerful fairy would ask a favor of a little boy.   
  
"I need a spy. The Fairy Code has been a quideline for the fairy way since its creation. Someone has stolen the Great Book. I have a connection with the book, and I feel it here in the gardens. But I can feel it travelling towards Neverland. I need you, Peter, to find out who has the book for me. Tinkerbell has been told of this, and she is waiting for you in Neverland." The Queen's smile thinned. "These are dire times."  
  
The Fairy Code was an ancient book, much like the modern day Bible. It was written by the first fairies that came from the first laugh of the first baby. They wrote it as a set of rules and codes for future fairies to follow. It was considered to be one of the most sacred fairy artifacts. Faith was placed within the book, and if the faith were to be lost, the fairy ways would perish. Faith is a very powerful thing.  
  
"What's a dire?" Peter asked, hovering a few feet from the ground.  
  
"Peter, it means that something bad will happen if we don't find the book." Wendy told him, setting her hand on his arm.   
  
"Will it be an adventure?" Peter asked, his eyes lighting at the idea.   
  
"Yes, it will be a grand adventure." The Queen smiled, her eyes brimming with sparkling diamond tears. "Go, go now. But I must warn you, time does not exist in the fairy palace. Things might be very different on the surface."  
  
Peter did not understand what she meant by this, nor did Wendy. They did not know that time does not exist in the Fairy Palace. What may feel like a short time to them could be years in London. Had they known this fact, I doubt they would have gone to the Fairy Palace at all. But then if they had not, there would be no story. And if there were no story, then things would be vastly different, now wouldn't they?  
  
Peter smiled his cocky smile, bowed out, grabbed Wendy's hand and turned and ran from the fairy court. His love for adventure had taken over his conscious use of his manners, which Wendy would later chide him for. Peter kept himself on the ground, resisting his urge to float into the air, a resistance that Wendy was thankful for. She didn't want it to be too obvious that she had forgotten how to fly. She had played the adventures through her head every night before bed, memorizing every detail to the adventures. But the fairy dust had worn away, the magic fading, leaving her without the ability to fly. That was one of the most disappointing things she had endured in her life.   
  
When they reached the beautiful entryway, Peter motioned to her to plug her nose. The door opened, and Wendy gasped at what she saw. She saw a shummery screen, much like a bath curtain, rippling just outside the door. She tentatively let her hand slide through the curtain, only to be caught by the warm feeling of the water.   
  
"How is that possible?" Wendy asked in awe.  
  
"They are fairies. Fairies can do anything." Peter replied, smiling at her. "Come on, it's time for another adventure."  
  
They jumped together into the screen, only to find themselves laying face down on the bottom of the lake. Peter was the first to act, pulling himself up, then helping Wendy up. They swam quickly to the surface, gasping for breath when they broke through. They treaded water until they reached the bank, which was quite a bit farther than Wendy had recalled. They climbed out of the pond, finding themselves not as lucky as when they had entered the Fairy Palace. They were soaked clear through their clothes.   
  
"I don't remember this place." Wendy said, glancing around fearfully.  
  
"She said it would be differnet." Peter reminded her, once again lacing his fingers through hers. "I suppose this is not the only thing that has changed."  
  
"I fear that it is not..." Wendy replied softly, biting her lip.  
  
They walked along the fairy paths, the shrubs and trees overgrown. The birds whispered among themselves, following the two children through the trees. Sounds reverberated from the road, sounds that were not familiar to the ears of Wendy or Peter. When they reached the road, Wendy nearly fainted at the sight. Peter stared, his mouth agape.   
  
Automobiles (for that are what they are called) drove at unimaginable speeds. Bright colors assaulted their eyes off of these steel monsters (a beastly creation, that they are). Motors sounding only like that heard in the factory section of London revved and died all around them. Wendy felt tears stinging her eyes.  
  
"What has happened to my London? Peter, where is my London?" Wendy cried, turning to look into his eyes.  
  
His own eyes were wide with awe. He had thought he was amazed by what he had seen in Wendy's London, but this new London altogether terrified him - not that he would ever admit that to anyone.  
  
"Peter, where is my London? Why is this happening to us?" Wendy asked, tears flowing freely from her eyes.   
  
"I-I don't know." Peter stuttered, baffled by the sadness and distress that shined at him through Wendy's eyes.   
  
A sudden realization struck Wendy. "John, Michael, Slightly...Mother...All of them! Where are they?" Wendy asked again, her tears stemming. "We have to find them!"  
  
She ran across the street, nearly getting hit by the hideous automobiles. Peter ran after her, nearly getting hit himself. He caught up with her, and the two children ran together, until they reached the steps of Wendy's home.   
  
It had not changed much. The season had been different when they left, for there had been snow on the ground, but now the weather was barren and bitter cold. The building had lost its glow of joy. The house that had once been filled with the love and laughter of a family of many children was now set into a dull gray palor of identically sad houses. It was a depressing sight, only added to by the queer metal box hanging out of the third story window - the room that was formerly Wendy and her brothers' nursery. The metal box lay quiet and still, but if they were to have appeared into the summer time, they would have found the monstrosity to be humming and churning as a constant drip of water irritated the sidewalk.   
  
Wendy ran to the steps, the icy fingers of sadness gripping her heart. She climbed the steps, before knocking sternly on the door. A man's voice called out for her to wait a minute, a dog barking loudly in the background. The door opened.  
  
A tall, thin man opened the door. "Yes?"  
  
"I'm looking for George and Mary Darling. I believe they used to live here." Wendy told the man, trying to hide her emotions from this stranger.  
  
"Eh? Never heard of them. I have lived here all of my life, and I have never heard that name. My mum might know of them though." The man left, shutting the door behind him.   
  
"Is he coming back?" Peter asked, his feet nearly numb by this time.  
  
"I suppose so..." Wendy tried to warm herself.   
  
The man returned, followed by an old woman.   
  
"This is my mother. Mum, do you know of the Darlings?" The man asked the elder woman.   
  
The old woman had a hard face. A face that had seen too many hard days and too few comfortable ones. She was not an evil woman, she was merely a bitter old soul, filled with absurd ideas and thoughts of the umbrellas in her coat room speaking to her in French. She was quite a strange old bird. Her son had to care for her, for if he had not been present, she probably would have beat Wendy with her French-speaking umbrellas.   
  
"Aye, the Darlings. I remember the man your father and I bought this house from. Had a funny name...Had seven brothers that he did. They all had queer names..." The old woman babbled on to herself, before abruptly turning and leaving.   
  
"Sorry." The man shrugged, turned around himself, and shut the door.   
  
"A man...My family...They're all gone...Peter, they're all gone!" Wendy said, tears forming once again.   
  
"S-s-sorry, Wendy. I really am." Peter stuttered, his teeth chattering with cold.   
  
"Oh Peter! You must be freezing!" Wendy said, cupping his hands in hers, blowing warm air onto them. "I must say I am quite cold myself!" She laughed nervously, sniffling.  
  
"Peter, we have to find that book. We have to have this adventure. If we do, the queen might help me undo this. I might be able to save my family!" She smiled weakly, touching his cheek. "I will need your help, Peter."  
  
"An adventure is always welcome!" He exclaimed, smiling his cocky grin. "'Tis nearly night, and we shall ride the wind to Neverland, and have a great adventure!"   
  
"Yes!" Wendy returned his smile. "We shall have a grand adventure." 


	6. The Mermaids

As night fell on this strange city, Wendy cried herself to sleep, leaning against Peter on the steps of what was once her home. Peter tried to comfort her - albeit in his own unsure way. Peter knew few emotions for a child; grief he had only experienced twice in his short life. Wendy was dearest to him as ever, and he swore to himself that he would do everything to make her happy. He knew that even though he might lose her because of it, he had to help her get her family back - everything to make her happy, he reminded himself.   
  
Once the stars became apparent, Peter woke Wendy. Her eyes had swollen red from crying, but she smiled at him nonetheless. No words passed between them as Peter dusted Wendy with pixie dust (he had taken a pinch from Fairy Palace). The two children rose into the air, before directing themselves to the second star to the right. Once they located the proper star (the Neverland star is always the brightest), they flew straight on towards the star. Before long, they crashed through the indiscernable barrier between this world and the world of Neverland.   
  
Neverland had not changed at all. It awoke from an icy sleep with the return of its hero, The ice cracked apart, leaving cerulean veins pulsing through the ocean. The Jolly Roger lay asbandoned and desolate a good ways out into the sea, groaning at the strain of pressing ice. The sound of wooping carried into the sky from the Piccaninny village, a sweet smoke rising from a dying bonfire, tickling the nose of a sleepy sun. The crocodile stirred out of its own deep sleep, smiling its reptilian grin at the return of Peter Pan. The crocodile felt forever indebted to Peter for Hook's demise. Hook was apparently a most tasty dish - a taste that the crocodile forever savored on his lashing tongue.   
  
Peter and Wendy soared high above the island, circling the jungle before descending upon the tree that once was - and probably still is - the Home Underground. This, too, had not changed. Peter had made every attempt possible to preserve the way things had been left when Wendy and the Lost Boys had taken their leave of Neverland. He wanted to keep it exactly as it was, so he could relish in the memories.   
  
Wendy's tears had dried at this point, and she smiled softly at the sight of the Home Underground. The two children landed, and Wendy ran to the bark door. She ran her hands softly over the wood.   
  
"Oh, Peter, it is just as I remember it!" Wendy exclaimed, gently fingering the rope that hoisted open the bark door.   
  
Peter grinned the cocky grin, and pulled the fraying rope. The bark door opened, then Wendy and Peter slid down the sliding tunnel to the cave-like home. The same thin wisp of root hung low from the spindly core of the tree, dripping the same tepid, beastly liquid - the dreaded medicine. The beds were made and untouched, even Michael's bassinet was clean and without a speck of dust. Peter had taken special care to dust - Wendy had been such a tidy make-believe mother.   
  
Wendy sighed, seating herself on the bed. She tucked her skirt over her knees, so as not to be indecent. Her hair was mussed by the pond water and the travel, but she did not seem to notice. Peter thought she looked positively radiant no matter what her appearance or attire. Which was probably a good thing, for Wendy cared little for her attire at this point; she just wanted to return to her family. For mothers, even make believe ones, are nothing without their family.  
  
"Peter, where shall we start?" Wendy asked quietly, tracing the words she had etched into the floor when teaching the boys their letters.  
  
"The grand adventure has already begun! We must find the fairies, of course." Peter replied pompously, assuming his infamous hands-on-hips pose. "We shall leave at dawn!"  
  
"Dawn? Why not now?" Wendy asked, stifling a yawn.  
  
"Every grand adventure begins at dawn, surely you knew that." Peter said confidently. "Always."  
  
"I suppose I am a bit tired." Wendy replied, letting the yawn take her - then a thought struck her square. "Where is Tinkerbell?"  
  
"Tink? Probably out with the fairies, I assume. She'll be back eventually. I never worry about her." Peter shrugged, nestling into a corner, sword in hand.  
  
"Peter, why are you not going to sleep?" Wendy asked him, lying down now, pulling the blanket to her chin.  
  
"I'm guarding." Peter nodded. "What if something were to happen in the night? Who would protect you?"   
  
"I do suppose you are right." Wendy resigned, "Goodnight, Peter Pan."  
  
"Goodnight, Wendy Darling."   
  
Tink fluttered in at half past three (of course Tink nor Peter knew the exact time), her twinkling light whirring about the Home Underground, excitedly pulling on Peter's hair, trying to wake him. Her tinkling bell voice was shrieking at him happily, before he swatted at her.  
  
"Tink! Shh! Wendy is sleeping!" Peter whispered at her, a finger to his lips.   
  
"Wendy!" Tink huffed, beginning to curse at the top of her lungs (her lungs were quite tiny, so it was not a most offending sound). "You silly ass!"  
  
Tink fluttered her translucent wings, stuck out her tongue, whirring into her tiny cabin in the wall.   
  
"Tink! Tinkerbell!" Peter knocked softly on her door. "Wendy and I need your help!"  
  
Tink made quite a few rude hand gestures, calling him a "silly ass" repeatedly. She squinted her eyes at him and shook her tiny little head vigorously.   
  
"Tink, please?" Tinkerbell made no attempt of cooperation. "I'll banish you again!"  
  
"You silly ass!" Tink told him, but reluctantly (not because of the threat, she would later claim) came out of her cabin.   
  
Peter looked quite smug with himself at coaxing Tink out of her cabin. As you most surely know, Peter was a most arrogant child. Tink despised it when she felt that he thought he had gotten the best of her. At those times she usually just called him a silly ass and retreated to her cabin. Eventually she felt obligated to help the boy in his troubles, and returned to him, full of impish smiles and adventure. This was no exception.   
  
At dawn, Tinkerbell woke Wendy. Tinkerbell is not at all well-versed in the waking educate that Wendy had thought so universal. Tinkerbell thought that a perfectly acceptable way to wake the girl would be to pull her hair.   
  
Peter woke from his dreamless sleep at Wendy's sharp rebuffing of the fairy. Peter jumped from his perch, grabbed Tinkerbell and shooed her away from Wendy.   
  
"Tink! No - you can't hurt Wendy!" Peter told the fairy, who promptly responded by flipping up her skirt and revealing her fairy bum, which was quite indecent of her, I might add.   
  
Tinkerbell flew up one of the slides, and out onto the surface of Neverland. She did not hate Wendy, but fairies are so small, that they can only hold one emotion at a time. Tinkerbell was not all bad - Wendy sparked jealousy.   
  
The other fairies had always chided her for being so close to a human. She had no fairy companions as a result of her relations with Peter. Most times, she did not care what the other fairies thought, but in the presence of Wendy, she was lonely. Fairies are not meant to be solitary creatures, but they are also not learned in the mannerisms of sharing.   
  
She waited in the slide, stepping lightly on an overhang of bark. She waited for Peter to come after her, to plead with her to come down and help them with their adventure, but the plea never came. Peter was talking to Wendy.  
  
"I spoke with Tink, and she said she heard the mermaids talking about a...a dark fairy - at least I think that is what she said. We should go ask the mermaids first." Peter told her, sitting on the side of the bed.   
  
"A fairy? A bad fairy is most curious. The mermaids are such mesmerizing creatures - do you really think they might know where this fairy book is?" Wendy asked, brushing her hair with her fingers.   
  
"If the book is in Neverland, the mermaids will know."   
  
As soon as they had eaten their breakfast, at Wendy's insistence, the pair left for the Mermaid's Lagoon. Tinkerbell followed at a safe distance, of course, for she didn't want to miss out, but she also wanted them to think she was still at the Home Underground sulking.   
  
Wendy and Peter flew to the lagoon - walking is such a tedious process, after all. The rocky ledges and uprisings surrounding the lagoon made it very trying to get to the lagoon. The sun seemed to shy from the lagoon, fearing the dark creatures inhabiting it. Even though the sun had just risen, the lagoon was always left to a dark dusk when the sun was smiling on the rest of the island.   
  
They landed on the same flat rock they had spoken to the mermaids from in their first adventure together. Peter retrieved his pipes from one of the trouser pockets (he was not so careless as to forget them in his own clothing), playing a beautiful melody. The tempting song lured the mermaids from their underwater caverns to the surface, eager to hear more of their calling song.   
  
The mermaids rose to the surface, their dark eyes filled with curiousity. They knew all that occurred in Neverland - not a move was made without their knowing. The mermaids are not vain creatures - for how can one be vain when one looks almost identical to all others? They clicked their teeth at Peter and Wendy, showing their teeth, which were not really teeth at all, but something more like the baleen of a blue whale. Wendy had forgotten the disturbing appearance of their teeth.   
  
Peter halted the entrancing music, and began to talk to the mermaids. Wendy only heard sharp clicks, speeding by her at a rate to where she almost heard just a constant hum, the clicks all running together. The little girl was quite careful not to look into their eyes this time; their hypnotic stares would entrap her to a watery death.   
  
The chatter stopped, the mermaids diving down to return to their homes. Peter turned to Wendy, a puzzled look on his young face.  
  
"Well?" Wendy asked, smiling reassuringly at her companion.  
  
"Dark fairies do exist, Wendy." Peter replied, standing up and helping Wendy to her feet. "The book is in Neverland, but it is in the Grove."  
  
"The Grove? Where's that?" Wendy asked, her spirits rising at the immediate prospect of a quest.  
  
"The Fairy Grove. Where all the fairies live." Peter replied, as if he was shocked that she did not know.   
  
"Shall we go there?" Wendy asked, her eyes alight with glee of fairies and magic.  
  
"We'll have to sneak in - humans aren't allowed in the Grove." Peter said seriously, only the twinkle in his eye giving away his intent of mischief.   
  
The two children flew into the air, smiles bright and eyes shining, flying back to the Home Underground to plan their journey into the forbidden Fairy Grove. Tinkerbell would have to assist them, of course, but they were confident nonetheless. This was going to be a grand adventure, indeed. 


	7. Clash Of Powers

Peter and Wendy were eager to begin their adventure as soon as possible, but they quickly reminded themselves that a journey as perilous as the one they were to undertake must be planned carefully. The two children had no idea where to start! Their first idea was to disguise themselves as fairies (Peter's idea, no doubt) but that was quickly thrown out - for how would they become fairy size?   
  
Their second plot was to just go into the Grove. The Fairy Grove is fairy territory - all fairies, by nature, are very vain. Each fairy, down to the most common, believes that his or her job is the most important, and thus hold themselves very high in regard. With that mindset, each one thinks themselves too important with their jobs to guard the Grove. So the Grove is very easily penetrated. Tinkerbell would never admit to being apart of such self-righteous a people, but she nevertheless told them that the Grove was not guarded in the least.   
  
The pair quickly organized their plan. Tinkerbell, begrudgingly it seemed, agreed to help the children in their plan. Really, she was quite delighted at the opportunity to help the children. She, like all fairies, loved a good mischievous deed. They were to do the most obvious of things - walk right into the Grove! How absurd it must have seemed to Wendy, who had always seen the fairies as ethereal beings, not to be disturbed, to waltz right into their haven!  
  
The trio set out at midday, Tinkerbell in the lead. Peter and Tinkerbell, along with the Lost Boys, had played hide-and-seek many times in forest, but Tinkerbell had never let any of the boys or Peter himself drift towards the Fairy Grove. Even Neverland's hero did not know the location of the mystic place. Only fairies knew where the Grove lay, the location being a very well guarded secret. Until Tinkerbell led the children to the grounds, no non-fairy foot had ever stepped upon the magical soil.  
  
It was quite obvious when they arrived in the Grove. Everything became brighter, thicker, and greener. The plants flourished, leaves that were tiny in other parts of the forest had become the size of small children. Everything about the place had blossomed into something more - something magical. Even the air was magical. A sweet scent permeated through the soil, overtaking their senses. Tinkerbell was unaffected by these beauties, but Peter and Wendy were awed. They began to feel lightheaded, the magical powers intoxicating their minds. Tinkerbell had to pull the children's hair many times to get them to come back down from their magical high.   
  
The fairy homes in the trees. Not high above, nestled on branches as one would think, but within the trees. The doors were the caps of large mushrooms, while others were made of leaves and bark. The homes themselves were small, but not too small. The trees were covered with the doors, which led to hollowed spots. Every home had a chimney, as odd as it may sound for fairy homes to have chimneys. They looked like small branches just starting to grow out of the trunk, but only in winter were they revealed to be chimneys. In the center of the Grove, there stood a small structure, whose materials could not be named. It was in fact comprised of many magical artifacts. It was the Fairy Square - the most important building to fairies residing in Neverland.   
  
Tinkerbell explained to them in hushed whispers what the Fairy Square was for. The Prince of Fairies called all of the Fairies there every month to tell them the news of the fairies in the other world. His mother was still the supreme ruler of the fairies, despite what he would like to have them believe.   
  
The Fairy Prince was a most hideous being. While he was physically beautiful, his heart was dark and twisted. He clouded his mind with thoughts of power and control. He had no room in his heart for joy and love! He commanded the fairies of Neverland as a cruel King would - no fairy dare speak against him, for fear of being killed.   
  
Contrary to what most think, there is more than one way to kill a fairy. The Prince killed him victims by coaxing sleeping children to say the most dreaded five words. I do not dare even write them! The Prince would take his captor into the child's room, then whisper the hated words into the child's ear - for the fairy that says it does not die. But his victim's light would most surely perish.   
  
As I said, he was a most hideous creature.   
  
Now, Wendy had seen the Fairy Prince once before, but this was not the same Prince. The Prince she had witnessed dancing gaily with a Fairy Lady was the Heir to the Fairy Throne. He had disappeared shortly after Wendy and the Lost Boys had departed from Neverland. No fairy spoke of it, not even the Queen. She feared her own second-born son more than she had feared anyone before. She knew he was capable of dastardly things. The second son was always called Prince, as if he were the first-born. Before his brother's disappearance, he had been called by his given name, Noble-Song. He was not given a title, being the second-born. He resented that with all of his dark heart. But now his given name was nearly forgotten - he was the Prince.   
  
Peter had to tell Wendy all of this on their journey through the forest. Not even Tinkerbell would whisper the story. She feared the eyes of the forest would tell the Prince of her words, and she would most surely be punished with death.   
  
No fairies seemed present when they ventured into the center of the Grove. Not a single fairy soul fluttered about. This was quite odd, as many thousands of fairies lived in the Grove. For all of them to be gone or sleeping at once was, well, impossible! But all things are possible, and as they soon came to realize, every fairy was in fact sleeping. All except one.   
  
They could not see him, but they could hear him. Unlike other fairies, whose voices were the beautiful tinkling of bells, his voice was a harsh clang, like someone banging a pot over and over again. They winced as his hideous voice became louder. Peter did not know the words he spoke, nor did Tinkerbell. It was not the fairy language.  
  
I know now that he was speaking in an entirely different language - the Elder Fairies had even forgotten it. It was an ancient language, long dead from the Fairy Way, used by the ancient Queens and Kings, to find and punish their enemies. It did not judge by actions, it judged by hearts. The magical portion of the words sought out all those who opposed the speaker in their heart of hearts, and punished them dreadfully. Now, it was considered completely uncivilized. The fairies were not always a peaceful, beautiful race. As any race, it had its years of strife tumult. As barbaric as they may have thought it, He knew it. He was speaking it as they crept upon where he stood, chanting the ghastly words.   
  
Tinkerbell soon realized that they were not in a good situation at all. She quickly tugged at Peter's ear, pleading with him in her high voice to run. Peter paid her no attention, for he was Peter Pan! He believed himself near invincible.   
  
"Tink, do shut up!" Peter told her sternly, in a quick whisper.   
  
But he heard Peter's words. Before any of the trio could blink, a dark light flew out of the Square, angry words spouting from its sick mouth. The form lunged at Peter, aiming for the little boy's heart. Tinkerbell intercepted the blow, the light and dark forming a blur of gray as the powers clashed. Peter stood still, before falling down, still trying to sort through the lightning-quick occurrence. Wendy shrieked, pulling on the shocked Peter to get up.   
  
"Tinkerbell! We have to save her!" Wendy told him, pulling him up.  
  
He soon recovered, standing, before taking Wendy's hand and lifting them both off of the ground. It took a moment before Wendy could pull her own weight, but the two flew nonetheless. They followed the cloudy sphere that was Tinkerbell and the offender. The two fairies - yes, I know the second fairy, and it does not take a scientist to figure out the identity of the evil - fought, taking blows with their tiny fists that would even spur a pirate to call out "Bad form!".   
  
Soon, though, the punches and kicks ceased, and the evil drew back. It was the Prince, as I am sure you have guessed at this point. He muttered four of the five dreadful words, causing Tinkerbell's light to flicker. He only got to word number four because Peter had grabbed him and tossed him into the air.   
  
This infuriated the Prince, who retaliated by attempting to utter those five most hated words again. He was going to kill Tinkerbell! This time, much to her own surprise, Wendy hit the fairy with a limb she had plucked from one of the huge trees! He tumbled backwards, falling until he hit the soft soil of the Grove with a small thud.  
  
Tears sprung to Wendy's eyes.   
  
"I have killed him!" She cried, "I have killed a fairy!"  
  
Peter rushed to her side, holding her hands.  
  
"You saved Tinkerbell! For that you must be proud!" He told her, but her tears still flowed freely.   
  
Tinkerbell, still slightly dizzy from her own near-death experience, fluttered to the two children, very haphazardly I must say, for at the time she was still seeing double.   
  
"Come on, Peter. Let's go home...We are done here." Tinkerbell whispered, before she lay on Peter's shoulder, and fell to sleep.   
  
The trio retreated from the Grove, not defeated, but most surely disheartened. They had not retrieved the book, they had not defeated the evil, and they had heard nothing that would lead them to the location of the book. It was not a successful venture at all! They still did not understand the vile words they had heard before they were attacked.   
  
The trio sadly flew back to the Home Underground, to rest for the night. It had been a most awful day, and they were all very tired. They agreed that the adventure was not over, but had merely just begun. Peter was very curious about the dead language.  
  
"Tink, how can a language be dead?" Peter asked, upon hearing Tink's suspicions of the Prince's words.   
  
"You silly ass!" She said playfully, before telling him what she knew of it. Of course, she explained, she could not understand it, but she had heard of it in fairy myths and legends.   
  
Legends are only exaggerated versions of the truth, but in Neverland, almost all legends and myths were not exaggerated. Neverland had experienced many dark times, before the coming of Peter. Peter was the hero of Neverland for many reasons.  
  
Wendy was still quite shaken, thinking she had killed the Fairy Prince. As they soon found out, he was not dead. He had merely been unconscious when he had plummeted to the ground. He was actually far from death. If a body can retain so many vile things, it can surely last a fall of thirty or so feet.   
  
Peter comforted Wendy, in his own way, reassuring her that if she had not acted he and Tinkerbell would both be dead. That made her sob even harder, thinking of her beloved Peter as dead. Peter was bewildered by all of the emotion she was showing. He had never seen Wendy this way - his boyish mind did not grasp the idea that she feared for him. He didn't think it plausible that she could fear for him as he feared for her. But, alas, she did. She felt fear for him very much - more than she feared for her own brothers. Of course, the fear was quite different, for her brothers had never tried to battle a dark fairy, but it was fear nonetheless.   
  
Peter was experiencing the feelings. He was no longer the numb little boy who cared for nothing but himself. He cared and feared for Wendy, but he did not fear for himself. That was his one of very few flaws. He had no fear for himself. As I said, he thought himself near invincible!  
  
That night, Peter slept as soundly as Wendy. The pair lay curled on the mattress together, their fingers still entwined. Tinkerbell sat watch, her mood alternating from jealous rage to watchful guard, keeping the couple safe as they slept away their fears of the day.   
  
The two had no dreams that night - which was probably a miracle, as many a nightmare could have sprung from their eventful day. Peter regularly had nightmares - when Wendy had stayed with him, she had comforted him in his sleep until the nightmares had faded. He had always treasured that memory since her departure, on nights when his nightmares woke him, sweat drenched and tearful. He was glad that she had returned with him, even if he was helping her return to her family in the end.   
  
The two slept quite peacefully, hands holding tightly to eachother, never to let go. 


	8. For Love

As the sun rose over the Neverland, Peter stirred, finding himself surprisingly comfortable. No lingering visions of heartache and woe filled his mind - he could only recognize Wendy's soft, sweet scent. His dreams had been littered with that scent - even his nightmares.  
  
He sat up, realizing that he was on the mattress, instead of perched in the corner. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, taking in the scene. Yes, it was the Home Underground, but something was different to him. His eye lingered over every nook and crevice in the hollowed innards of the huge tree, over Wendy (though not by necessity as much as he just liked to), and then settled on Tinkerbell's boudoir.   
  
The small wooden door was nearly ripped from its hinges, swaying silently back and forth. Fairy dust glimmered along the entire area. It is impossible to tell if a particular dust belongs to a particular fairy, but Peter instinctively knew that the dust was Tinkerbell's. She had struggled, he assumed.   
  
He woke Wendy, his demeanor calm. He was not shocked by this occurence - he was merely surprised that they had not killed Wendy and himself in their sleep. He unbuttoned the collared shirt that Wendy had given him, which was no longer a clear-white, laying it aside. The shirt needed a good washing, Wendy noted, picking it up from the floor and folding it neatly.  
  
"Peter, do you think Tinkerbell will be okay?" Wendy asked, fiddling nervously.  
  
"Sure, she can take care of herself." He replied, checking for his dagger. He glanced around, searching out something else.  
  
"What are you looking for?" Wendy asked him curiously.  
  
"The bow and arrows. The Lost Boys left them here..." Peter replied, still flying up and down the room in search of the lost items.  
  
"Bow and arrow? But don't you have your dagger?" Wendy questioned her companion, standing and making the bed.  
  
"Oh, not for me. For you!" Peter exclaimed, as if it were so very obvious.  
  
"Me? I have never even held a bow before! Besides, how are you supposed to shoot a fairy? The arrow is bigger than they are!" Wendy protested, but finally relented and took the bow. "You know I won't hit anything."  
  
"With that kind of talk, of course not. I think that when the time comes, you will know what to do." Peter offered her the bow, smiling confidently.  
  
"So are we just to barge in there, arrows and daggers ready?" Wendy asked, fingering the well-worn bow.  
  
"Of course, what else would you do?" Peter asked her, fastening a leather pouch and sheath to the belt-loops of his trousers, which were now torn and dirty.   
  
"It's just...Don't you think it is a bit dangerous?" Wendy asked, knowing the question sounded utterly naive.  
  
"It wouldn't be an adventure if it weren't!" Peter replied exuberantly, taking Wendy's hand. "We have to go now."  
  
"But Peter, what if something bad is to happen to us? They are fairies! We are just children - we have no magic to fight them with!" Wendy said, grasping his hand but resisting his pull.  
  
"The fairies have good form. And I do believe the only one we have to be concerned about is the one we saw yesterday." Peter told her, pulling her again.   
  
"B-But I killed him!" Wendy gasped, her eyebrows knitting in frustration. "He - or it, lived?"  
  
"Probably. Fairies usually never harbor bad blood between them...Only a dark fairy does that, and we would have heard about it if he had followers." Peter said, still tugging at her.  
  
"I'm scared..." She whimpered, still resisting.   
  
"Don't be. I'll protect you." Peter smiled reassuringly, squeezing her hand. "You'll always be safe with me."  
  
Wendy trusted Peter with all of her heart, and his words melted her fear. As the joyous thoughts filled her head, she lifted off the ground, as did Peter, and the two left the Home Underground.  
  
The Grove was obvious from the sky, as it was greener than the rest of the forest. They easily landed in one of the highest trees, carefully making their way down, so that they had a good vantage point. They had to spy on their enemies.   
  
The thrill of the adventurous nature of their actions ran through Wendy. I do believe that she was trying to forget the awful London she had witnessed, and trying to immerse herself in the beauty and danger of Neverland.   
  
Peter was overjoyed at Wendy's new freedom in adventure. If things were exactly as they had been, she would still be adventurous, but still a cautious maternal type. She was free, as was he, and they had great adventures with no limits within their sight. At least, that was how Peter saw it.   
  
The pair watched from the thick bows of a particularly large tree, their eyes straining to focus on the small, shimmering figures that flitted to and fro across the clearing. The joyous tinkling of bells was heard, rising from the ground into the sky, the gay sound sweeping over all. No loud gong-like voices were heard - only the beautiful bells chimed below.  
  
A familiar figure fluttered among them, moving slower than the rest. Peter recognized her at once, and began to whistle an unfamiliar tune. The tune was a code between Peter and Wendy, that Peter had developed at a very young age. He tried in vain to get her attention, but she kept at her slow flutter. A pained expression replaced his look of fascination. Wendy felt his muscles tense through the branch, and she touched the crook of his elbow, getting him to look at her. She shook her head, for she knew he wanted to sweep into the middle of the world below.   
  
Needless to say, even a warning from a beautiful girl cannot stop Peter Pan. He took her hand flew into the air, pulling Wendy behind him. She wanted to cry out, but knew that doing so would risk revealing them even more than that moment. Peter stood lightly on another branch, about twelve or so feet below the last one. He held Wendy's hand tightly, before grasping her waist and holding on the branch next to him. Wendy was quite flustered from the quick flight, but his hands on her waist made her even more so!  
  
Peter motioned to stay quiet. He pointed down, and made a few quick motions with his hands. Wendy knew he was trying to tell her something, like the game of charades, but she had no earthly idea what he was trying to communicate.   
  
"Peter, I can't --"  
  
Now, Peter had to think very quickly. If he were to hush her, which he knew he had to do, he should use his hands, but they were holding her on the branch, for even with his support, Wendy teetered to the left and right. Peter did what came to his mind first, which might give you an insight to where his mind was when he was with Wendy.  
  
He kissed her.  
  
His lips met hers, the hidden kiss finding its way to its rightful owner. Wendy's eyes widened in surprise, but she did not shriek, nor did she push him away or slap at him, despite that it was a mmost ungentlemen-ly thing to do. Once Peter was sure that she understood the rule of no speech, he pulled away, a very deep red blush rising in his face.   
  
Wendy smiled at him and squeezed his hand, which were both still laced around her waist. This only made him blush deeper, and he nearly lost his balance himself!   
  
No more motions were attempted, as it was obviously not the best way for them to communicate. Peter instead found it best to mouth the words that he would like to say to her, and hope beyond hope that she understood what in the world he was talking about. Well, not talking, mouthing.   
  
He mouthed to her that they were to fly lower, onto a particularly low hanging branch, only seven feet or so about the highest flying fairy. She nodded, still pink in the cheeks from the unexpected kiss. The two glided down, as if walking on air, to the next branch. It would have been a perfect landing if it were not for the loud groan the branch gave as the two children's weight settled on it.  
  
As Peter heard its beginnings, he quickly leapt off of the branch, lifting Wendy with him, but it was too late. The noise had already been heard.   
  
Hundreds of tiny, beautiful eyes turned and stared at the two children. Silence reigned as the children stood frozen, staying still in the air.   
  
That was when the pandemonium broke out.   
  
Fairies flew this way and that, their dainty voices shrieking into bells being swung too fast for their ropes, right before the rope snaps and the bells fall the ground, shattering into thousands of pieces. Wendy shrieked as fairies flew all around her, pulling on her hair and school dress, trying to escape themselves, not to harass her at all.   
  
Peter pulled Wendy close to him, the two children holding eachother tightly as fairies flew by the hundred past them, sometimes scratching, biting, clawing, and generally crashing into, them.   
  
"Peter! We have to get out of here!" Wendy screamed, trying to be loud enough for him to hear her over the din.   
  
He could not hear, although he could see the look of fear in her eyes. He tried to direct them to the ground, as did Wendy, both trying with all of their might to stay together but get to the ground also. It was not nearly as easy as they had thought afterall.   
  
When they finally reached the ground, nearly all of the fairies had retreated to their homes. All but two. The only fairy left near them was the familiar figure they had seen before - Tinkerbell. A weakened fairy, she lay on the ground, the cool earth soothing her damaged body. She needed at least three days of rest in order to rehabilitate, but she was too weak to move herself to a place of rest. The others fairies had no care but for themselves when it came to their lives. The children were no longer surrounded on all sides by frantic fairies, but by the cool silence of the forest. It was as if they had experienced a hurricane, and had reached the eye of the storm - a peaceful reprieve from the things to come. The two loosened their grip, simply standing, hands interlocked in case of the need of another quick get-away. They stood, glancing around for signs of danger.  
  
They should not have stood still.  
  
A horrible aura pushed its way into the peace of the forest, its dark, dank, rotten smell permeating through the air, becoming immediately apparent to any who cared to breathe through his or her nose.   
  
A vulgar cry that I dare not write for fear of recieving nasty letters from your parents on teaching you such horrid words was shouted. A cold wind blew, and the dark aura loomed ever closer. A small cloud, much like that of a very small chimney came towards Peter and Wendy, at an amazing speed.   
  
Peter pushed Wendy down, and she went sprawling onto the ground, as Peter was knocked across the clearing into a thick tree. The resounding thud shook Wendy from her shocked state, as she lifted herself up, her wrist throbbing, the joint hanging limply from her arm. Broken.   
  
She turned to Peter, to see if he was alright, but indeed, he was in worse shape than she. His head lolled to the side, a nasty scrape starting to bleed at his temple. He lay limp at the base of the tree. The hideous cloud loomed over his heart, an evil pouring from it as Wendy had not witnessed.   
  
Tears formed in Wendy's eyes. Her Peter, lying there like that! A fear overtook her like none had before. If he were to die like this - she did not let herself finish the thought. The tears poured from her eyes now, flowing as freely as a river runs. She knew what she had to do. She ignored her pounding wrist, running towards the evil being. Her good hand clutched her broken wrist as she ran.   
  
"I don't believe in fairies!" 


	9. The End?

The dark creature froze in mid-air, a shrill cry escaping its vile mouth. Its limbs twitched hideously, before the color started to change. The black cloud surrounding it began to dissipate, and the limp figure of a handsome fairy was visible. For a splt second, a fairy sparkle erupted around the fairy, before it, too, dissipated, and the figure fell to the ground, gray and still.   
  
The fairy landed on Peter's stomach, but the child, upon regaining consciousness, batted the dead thing away, as if it were toxic. Blood trickled from his temple, beginning to form a slow drip from the side of his chin. He stared, mouth agape, at the dead fairy. The fairy's evil had gone from his magical being, and he was left smiling, as if death were what he had wished for.   
  
"Wendy, I do believe he's dead." Peter said matter-of-factly, still studying the lifeless form.  
  
Tears spilled from Wendy's eyes. She released her broken wrist, ignoring the excruciating pain that pulsed through her wrist. She ran to Peter, wrapped her small arms around him. She sobbed into his shoulder, weeping tears of happiness, sadness, and pain. Peter was caught off guard by the show of affection, but returned her embrace nonetheless.   
  
"I thought for sure I'd lost you, Peter!" Wendy sobbed.  
  
Peter held her, for that was all he knew to do.   
  
"You'll never lose me. Never." Peter replied, a tremble in his voice.   
  
Peter Pan did not cry. His heart seized at these feelings. Feelings! Wendy had been so upset with him when he had not known them, and now that he did, he could not think of any way to tell her! He let her cry, finally beginning to grasp the reasons behind her sadness and joy of the moment.   
  
As she calmed, she released him from her hold, sitting back. Peter reached for her hands, but she winced as he touched her broken wrist. Concern filled Peter's eyes. He had broken many bones, back in the days when he was only beginning to learn to fly. The Lost Boys had broken bones, and Peter had set them. But he did not care for the Lost Boys in the same manner as he cared for Wendy (for it would be quite curious, would it not?). His heart ached at the sight of her pained face, her dainty wrist limp and swollen.  
  
"Let's go home." Peter said, helping her to her feet. "Where is Tink?"  
  
Peter had noticed that the rambunctious fairy was not pulling on Wendy's hair, nor screaming obscenities at him. He swore he had seen her among the hordes of fairies before, but the memory was quite unclear, due to the hit on his head.   
  
"She was right here...I don't know where she is now, though." Wendy stated simply, looking around briefly for the lively fairy. "Oh! But...the book. We need to get the book." Wendy added, wincing at the movement.  
  
"We can get it later. You are hurt." Peter replied sternly.   
  
Wendy nodded, trying to smile at him. She felt a change in his manner. She knew something inside him had changed, in that little bit of time, he had experienced the - dare she hope? - feelings. Even in her pain, she smiled widely at the thought. How grand would it be if he could feel what she felt for him! It would no longer be a pretend game to him, disappointing Wendy when she remembered that it was a fantasy for him. Oh yes, she was ready for him to discover them.   
  
The children walked home, deciding that flying would be too stressful on them both. Peter ached to hold Wendy's hand, to comfort her. But she grasped her broken wrist with her good hand, so no hands were left for Peter to hold.  
  
The forest seemed to come alive as they walked along the well-beaten paths. The birds sang their exotic tunes, harmonizing with the music of the wind in the trees. The trees swayed, dancing to a song that only they could hear. Even the Earth beneath their feet seemed to pusle with a renewed life. No longer was the heavy burden of darkness weighing down its colorful spirit.   
  
When they reached the Home Underground, Wendy mentioned that it was time for lunch. Never being one to skirt her assumed duties, she began to assemble as proper a lunch as one could manage. Peter, seeing his injured Wendy trying to manage, decided to help. Now you must understand that Peter knows nothing of domestic matters. After all, he is Peter Pan! Even Wendy could not resist giggling at his antics. He always could put a smile on her face, nearly as easy as he could bring a tear to her eye.   
  
When a proper lunch was finished, and the humorous antics had subsided, the pair ate in silence. Food was the least of their thoughts, despite the growling arguments of their bellies.   
  
Where was Tinkerbell?  
  
Even though she knew that Tinkerbell was not fond of her at all, Wendy still worried about the fate of the little pixy. Peter seemed so aloof on the topic, as if he was sure that she was outside plotting ways to dramatize her entrance into the Home Underground.   
  
Which, oddly enough, was exactly what she was up to.  
  
She had actually been through quite a tumultuous time. Stolen from her boudoir in the night, beaten so badly she was hardly able to fly, and to add to her mounting list of the morning's inconveniences, Peter had left her in the Grove! Now, even though there were understandable circumstance under his leaving without her, she was quite unwilling to hear them. She once said herself, in a nasty retort to Wendy, that she gloried in being abandoned. As she was not willing to admit the truth in that statement, I trust you to keep it a secret.   
  
Her plan was to flutter in, acting as if it were all she could do to remain aflight. She would then shudder to the ground, and feign unconsciousness, while Peter and Wendy both huddled around her, concerned and fearful.   
  
This would have worked quite well, were it not for Tinkerbell's vanity taking place of her mischievous nature when she realized she had been eavesdropping on their conversation for quite a long time, and she had not once heard them express any concern for her well being! The little fairy was outraged. How could they not worry about her? She had nearly died - well, that was her own exagerration.   
  
In her little fit, she burst into the Home Underground, shouting obscenities and flailing about in a quite odd fashion.  
  
Peter and Wendy nearly leaped out of their skins when she burst from the tunnel. It had been quiet and serene in the room, but that was all quite quickly demolished when the fairy made her appearance. She did have a flair for drama.   
  
"Tink! You're alive!" Peter shouted, sounding a little too surprised.  
  
"Yes, and no thanks to you, you silly ass!" She retorted, still screaming and flailing about.   
  
"Peter, do something...she's going to hurt herself!" Wendy whispered to Peter, who was laughing at the fairy's antics.  
  
"Oh, she'll be fine. She won't hurt her -"  
  
Peter was abruptly cut off when Tinkerbell swatted him quite soundly on the forehead. Wendy struggled to hide her laughter, for it was quite funny to see Peter with this shocked look on his face, while Tinkerbell continued to flit about.   
  
Peter began to laugh at himself, as it was quite a laughable scene. Tinkerbell, on the other hand, did not find it at all funny, beginning to curse more and more. She was not at all a happy fairy.   
  
A light humor set on the three, even though Tinkerbell refused to give up her angry demeanor easily, and once all was calm, a soft peace rested between them.   
  
Even though it was but midday, Peter decided that they were to spend the day with leisure, and not returning to the Grove retrieving the book that had gotten them into so much trouble.   
  
Peter bandaged Wendy's wrist, wrapping a thick, flat strip of bark to her broken limb with a wide strip of his soiled shirt. He was quite gentle, wrapping the appendage firmly, but not tightly. Tinkerbell made exagerrated gagging sounds and expressions behind them as she overheard their conversation and watched the feelings expressed in both child's eyes.   
  
Tinkerbell quickly became bored with the pair, and promptly left them to rest in her boudoir. No sooner had she made a curtain in the place of her door, then Peter was already leading Wendy out of the Home Underground, finger pressed to his lips.   
  
She could not help but smile at the impish grin on Peter's face as he led her from the cavern. When they reached the surface, he motioned to stay silent.   
  
When they were a short distance from the tree, Peter smiled, before letting out a triumphant crow. He turned to Wendy, his eyes alight.  
  
"Can you swim?"   
  
"Well, I haven't for quite sometime now... but I believe I can." Wendy replied, somewhat caught offguard by this sudden question.  
  
"That'll do." Peter said, catching Wendy by the waist before lifting her and himself up into the air and above the trees.  
  
The shock from the abrupt lift off wore away as she became overcome with delight at being high in the air, soaring high above the treetops.  
  
Peter flew her a small cove, much like the Mermaid Lagoon, but without the dark, eery, mysterious aura. The beach was sandy, but surrounded by carved sndstone peaks, much like the devices hanging from cave ceilings, except these came from the ground. The water glittered a precious blue, shining like a thousand emeralds and sapphires. Upon closer inspection, Wendy found that beneath the water, in some parts of the cove, there were hundreds of sapphires and emeralds! When she asked Peter of their origin, he replied that they were cursed pirate's treasure, left at the bottom of the cove where they could not cause harm to anyone but those who willfully disturbed them by taking them from their place.   
  
After setting Wendy on the sandy beach, Peter dove into the water, playfully showing off as he shot from the water, flying high above, before doing a number of fancy tricks as he dove back into the water.  
  
Suddenly, he disappeared from view. She ventured into the water, stopping when the water reached her ankles. The cool water lapped at her feet, but she could pay no attention to it. Beneath her feet, the sand turned to stone, which soon dropped to three or four feet deep, the water so clear, allowing you to see the beautiful gems at the bottom.   
  
As suddenly as he had disappeared, Peter's head appeared right in front of Wendy, a cocky smile on his face. The smile was quickly erased as he saw the look of worry on Wendy's face. The expression quickly vanished, as Wendy's features formed a pretty smile.  
  
"Peter, where did you go?" Wendy asked tentatively, hoping he had not been playing a trick on her.   
  
"Come in and I'll show you." He told her, almost whispering. He extended a hand to help into the water, which she gladly took, and stepped into the cool water. "Now hold your breath. Open your eyes when I squeeze your hand. No peeking!"  
  
She complied, closing her eyes, and taking a deep breath. She felt herself being led below the water, sensing the dark that seemed to slowly creep upon them. A soft squeeze on her forearm (her good arm, of course) told her to open her eyes.  
  
When she opened them, she was met with a jarringly bright light. As her eyes focused, she saw mountains of gold. Hundreds of thousands large gold coins littered the floor, forming large heaps. Strings of pearls laced themselves through the piles, seeming to jump from the pages of Wendy's storybooks.   
  
She nearly laughed aloud, before quickly realizing that she was underwater, and that would not be at all wise. She motioned to Peter that she was running out of air, and that she would need to surface quite soon. Peter nodded, and began to lead her out.  
  
As they reached the mouth of the cave, Wendy began to struggle for air. She had held the air for quite as long as she could, and her lungs were beginning to constrict. Peter turned to see her pained expression as she tried to swim faster, but failed to do so.   
  
Peter swam next her, pulling her along. He was quite a talented swimmer, not to mention that he could hold his breath for a lengthy period of time. Wendy emitted a short squeal, her feeling of need for oxygen becoming greater, even if she were to inhale the crystal waters.   
  
Peter stopped her, a panic seizing her. She thought that he must be trying to kill her! She struggled with him, but he held tight. As she would not stop struggling, he stopped her, before pressing his lips to hers.   
  
What a time for a kiss! She thought. She was suffocating. He tried to show that she should open her mouth, which she eventually did, when she was nearing unconsciousness. Peter had learned this trick when one of the boys had trapped themselves in the same cave - Slightly, of course, in his first days as a Lost Boy. Peter had found that one could breathe for another person.   
  
Holding his mouth to Wendy's, slowly giving her all of the air he had kept trapped within his lungs, he kicked to the surface. As they broke the surface, Wendy inhaled deeply.   
  
"How did you learn that?" She asked him, her face flushed from embarassment and love.  
  
"Slightly nearly drowned her, long ago." Peter replied, smiling. "Are you okay? The key is to stay calm."  
  
"I'll remember that next time." She laughed, before she thought of something: Was there to be a next time?   
  
Was she to ever return to Neverland upon returning to her own London? 


	10. Silence

Peter noticed the change in Wendy's eyes as her joyous mood slipped away, replaced with dread, fear, and mourning. She laughed bitterly at herself - mourning for something she had not even lost! Yet. The word flashed repeatedly in her head, reminding her of the impending farewell that she would have to make.   
  
Peter frowned at her expression. "What are you thinking, Wendy?" He asked her, his cocky grin gone, replaced with a look of concern.  
  
"Oh, nothing." Wendy hurriedly said, trying to cover up her less-than-happy thoughts. "It is so lovely out here, don't you think?"   
  
"Um...yes, I guess it is." Peter stumbled to restart the conversation.  
  
Conversation wasn't needed, because the next second, Peter splashed Wendy with a jet of water. She squealed, then shot back at him. Quite soon, they were returning spurts of water before the other had fired their shots. Laughing, yelling, and squealing filled the lagoon, along with splashes as the two children played.   
  
The game soon turned to a chase when Wendy began to swim towards the ledge, laughing and glancing behind herself every few seconds to see if he was close behind. On one glance, she noticed that Peter was nowhere in site.   
  
"Peter? Peter, are you there?" Wendy asked tentatively, turning slowly 'round.   
  
"Boo!"  
  
Wendy screamed in shock, before bursting into a fit of giggles. Peter floated an inch or so above the water, his face nearly six inches away from hers.  
  
"You gave me quite a fright, Peter!" Wendy laughed, splashing him playfully.   
  
"I didn't give you anything. I scared you!" Peter smiled widely.  
  
"Yes, that, too. And you don't play fair!" Wendy contested jovially.  
  
"What do you mean, 'fair'? And how did I not do it?" Peter asked, his curiousity at these queer things Wendy said growing; he loved to hear her speak, and even better when he could understand it.  
  
"Fair. I didn't know that we were allowed to fly, or else I would flown to the ledge instead of swam. So you see, that is why you scared me." Wendy told him, trying to explain the word's usage and what she had meant by using it.   
  
"Oh. Wendy?"   
  
"Yes, Peter?" Wendy replied, not paying much attention.  
  
"We can fly in this game."  
  
Wendy could not help but burst into laughter. If one were there, one would see it was very funny. Peter began laughing, too, realizing the joke he had made.   
  
Wendy concentrated, and rose above the water, levelling herself with Peter.   
  
"To the waterfall." She whispered, before rising high into the air, and flying to the small waterfall that sat on one of the hills that created the sides of the lagoon.  
  
Peter quickly followed, racing her. He, of course, won the race.  
  
The waterfall was small, but as beautiful as the largest in the world.   
  
"Peter...what will you do when I return to London?" Wendy asked quietly, staring into the watery blue-green depth around her.   
  
"You're still going?" Peter asked quietly, visibly pained.   
  
"Peter, I have to go. I have to be with my family." Wendy said quietly, feeling ever more ashamed for bringing it up.  
  
"I thought that if...if you had seen this place...maybe you wouldn't...wouldn't..." Peter struggled with words that could not breach the lump that had settled in his throat.   
  
"Oh, Peter..." Tears welled in Wendy's eyes, a familiar feeling by this time.   
  
Peter looked up, hearing the sadness in Wendy's voice. He lifted a finger, gently wiping away a tear drop that had slid down her cheek. She giggled, sniffling.   
  
"I don't want to leave you, Peter." She said quietly.  
  
"You don't have to." He replied matter-of-factly, but not unfeeling.   
  
At times, actions speak louder than words, and this is one of those times. Wendy put her arms under Peter's, and pulled herself to him. He responded the hug with a nervous grasp, before holding her as he had done some times before. Wendy rested her head on his shoulder, silent tears pouring from her eyes.   
  
Peter knew little of feelings. He barely ever felt them. But this time, possibly the only time something like this occurred, I believe he understood. I believe he understood the obligation Wendy felt for her family.   
  
He knew he had to let her go.   
  
The thought made his heart ache tremendously, but he knew that he could not hurt her. It would hurt her if he did not let her return to her family. It would hurt him if she left. Either way, he lost. He hated to think of life without Wendy. Since she had returned with him, he had been trying to erase the memories of days gone by without her, and was partially succeeding. His heart felt as if it were being ripped in two. He wanted her to be happy - that was what he wished her, but he also wanted her to stay with him.   
  
Wendy was feeling a similar dilemma. She wanted to stay wiht Peter - she thought, if she were to ever feel love, this was her love. She wanted to return to her family. If she had never returned from running away with Peter, what had become of them? Did they miss her? Were her parents overcome with desperation in searching for her, grief when she could not be found? What about the boys? Her brothers, who would tell them stories? Who would help Michael to grow up?  
  
Grow up.  
  
The two simple words seemed to strike fear in her love's heart. He was afraid. She was not. The differences were vast, and she knew they would eventually drive them their separate ways. She had an obligation to her family; oh, how she loved them! She could not leave them. But on the other hand, she loved Peter so, she could not leave him. Peter had no obligations. He had obligations to himself, and, Wendy hoped, to her. She was elated to think that she was the one person Peter cared about, but it also saddened her to think that the one person who loved him woiuld leave him, as she knew he thought his parents had done.   
  
Peter's parents loved him. They truly had. He ran away, as a tiny toddler, frightened of growing old. When he had finally decided to return, upon his many adventures in Kensington Gardens, he found the window he crept from barred, and his parents in his nursery, coddling a new baby. He was stricken with sadness and anger, as all of you would be. He thought his parents had forgotten about him. In fact, they had not. They had given up the hope that their darling boy would return home. They had lost hope. You might have seen Peter's parents on the streets. They have the look of a mother and father who have lost something very dear to them, their sweet child, whose life they hoped continued, but eventually let that hope die, like a candle's flame struck by the wind. Hope died, and with it, they put to rest the memory of their first born child.   
  
Wendy thought of these things, trying to weigh her choices. She felt obligated to both parties: her family, and her love. Either way, her heart would break if one was gone from life.   
  
"Peter, I can feel my heart breaking." Wendy whispered to him, sniffling.  
  
"I don't know how to mend broken hearts." Peter replied sadly.  
  
The children sat on the ledge next to the waterfall for hours. The sun began to set in front of them, reminding them that their time was coming to a close. Wendy cried for the hours, silent tears. She didn't mention it, but she knew Peter was crying, for she could feel the wet tears falling onto her shirt.   
  
When the sun had nearly set, and the darkness was beginning to cover them, they did not move. They watched the sun close his weary eyes on them, letting the moon rise about them, smiling upon them with her milky glow.   
  
The moonlight cast an pale glare on the faces of the children, but they did not notice. They were to busy trying to remember the details of eachother. Every detail seemed to be important. Things they had never noticed, such as Peter's scar on his chest from Hook, or a scar on Wendy's forearm from playing pirates with John and Michael, were suddenly important.   
  
Do not think they were silent this whole time. They talked of past adventures, the antics of the Lost Boys, what had happened when they had gone home, what Peter had done while they were gone, et cetera - all of the things they knew, but felt the need to share at this point.   
  
They eventually fell asleep, nearly two hours before sunrise, exhausted and drained from their day.   
  
They awoke when a dull roar crept upon their ears. Peter was the first to awake, as he always was. He lifted his heavy lids, soar from tears shed, to be met with the Crocodile.  
  
The Crocodile let out a dull roar, his steaming, stinking breath washing over the children. Peter was not afraid, merely surprised that the Crocodile had the audacity to come so close to them.   
  
"What do you want, Croc?" Peter asked the beast, who hissed in reply. "Hook is dead. There are no more pirates. You've eaten them all!"   
  
The Crocodile's large body shifted in the water, causing small waves to rise up and quietly crash under the ledge.   
  
"What do you want then?" Peter asked again, trying not to wake Wendy.  
  
A long hiss escaped the Crocodile's large jaws, the pungent breath biting at Peter's nose.  
  
Peter knitted his eyebrows at the animal. "If you're hungry, go eat something."  
  
Another hiss, before Peter's eyes went wide. "Oh."   
  
Peter tried to shake Wendy awake, but the Crocodile was not content with waiting. The unnaturally large beast snapped his heavy jaws, sending thick strings of saliva into the air. His tiny eyes squinted at the children, setting his target.   
  
Wendy's eyes fluttered open, pulling herself into consciousness.   
  
"Wendy..Wendy..get up! Come on!" A hurried whisper met her ears, before she realized it was Peter's voice.   
  
"What..? Peter?" She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and began to look around.   
  
Wendy emitted a short squeak, before Peter clamped his hands over her mouth.   
  
"Shhh." Peter whispered, "Fly up when I squeeze your hand."   
  
Wendy nodded slowly, her eyes wide with terror. The huge beast before them slowly and sluggishly readied himself for a lunge. Right before the Crocodile was prepared to leap, Peter squeezed Wendy's hand. Peter shot upwards, followed quickly by Wendy, her bound wrist at her side.   
  
The Crocodile lunged as soon as he realized they were going up. He crashed into the rock wall, knocking thick chunks of earth into the lagoon, before the Crocodile dove underwater, and began to swim towards the open water.   
  
Wendy began to laugh nervously. "I thought we weren't going to make it."   
  
"You're always safe with me." Peter replied, beginning to laugh himself, "In the end, that is."   
  
The children played, laughing and having fun, in the sky for nearly an hour, before they found themselves directly above the Grove. Looking down, it looked as if the place were asleep, all the fairies tucked into their tiny flower blossom beds. But, as with most things, that was not the case.   
  
To be quite honest, the fairies were ashamed. As you know, they were vain creatures, and they were quite embarassed at the fiasco that had occured the afternoon before. So they hid.  
  
Peter looked to Wendy for advice: retrieve the book now, or wait? The children agreed without words that they should retrieve the book.   
  
They proceeded with caution, slowly descending from the air, stopping abruptly at the smallest noise. When they reached the bottom, they found their task to be humourously easy: the book lay out on the ground, not even ten feet from them.   
  
Looking around, they found themselves surrounded by silent fairies. Hundreds of thousands of fairies circled them. Peter stood still, motioning Wendy to do the same. They did not know whether they were in danger yet.   
  
A small fairy, old and withered, fluttered foward, her head was bowed, her silver locks draping her tiny frame.   
  
"We present you with the book that you seek, as a symbol of our gratitude for freeing us." She bowed again. "We hope the magnitude of our thanks is realized."  
  
With that, she receded back into the circle, and the entire circle, all at once, lowered to the ground.  
  
Well, as you may know, this was quite odd for fairies! Showing gratitude, bowing - all of this is practically unknown to the fairies themselves. Fairies never give thanks. The only time I believe they have is the incident I just retold to you.   
  
Peter mumbled something inaudible, then reached for the book. It was a large, worn leather-bound book, the pages soft and yellowed with age. At least, it appeared leather-bound, but it was actually bound with dragon's hide. The practice of using dragon hide was banned among the fairies only one hundred years after the book was created, so it was simpler for the fairies to believe that the covering was made from some stupid, mortal creature's hide than the mystical, immortal dragon.  
  
In a split second, no longer than the children had blinked, the fairies were gone. They were left alone in the quiet glen, left wondering.  
  
They uneasily left the place, not so much disturbed as confused by the fairies actions. They had obviously felt that a thanks must be issued, or else they would not have let go of their pride for the short time that they did so.   
  
The book was in their possession now, the impending end of their adventure coming ever closer.   
  
They didn't speak of the end, or speak at all, really, that night.  
  
They hoped their time together would end with memories of adventure, and not of sadness or loss. 


	11. Disappear

As the sun peeked at the world from sleep-filled eyes, the children started their journey to the other world. Neither spoke during the duration of the trip, fearing that they would say the wrong thing. At times like these, as most of us know, there is no right thing to say.

They neared a clearing in the clouds, when a burst of wind and a loud roaring acosted their ears. Both of the children looked around frantically, trying to find the source of the dreadful clamor, but to no avail.

Suddenly, a huge gray cylinder with two flat sheets jutting from its sides barrelled towards them. Peter saw Wendy screaming, but couldn't hear her. He flew toward her, pushing her out of the path of this monstrousity. (I believe you modern folk call it an aero-plane.) Peter narrowly ducked as one of the "wings" of the said aero-plane went directly over them.

He could feel Wendy shaking as he held her. He had to admit, he was frightened, also. He could face a gaggle of pirates and a menagerie of strange and fantastic creatures, but I do believe he could face them because he could imagine them. He couldn't imagine anything like what he had just seen. But being an arrogant boy, he decided to tell Wendy that it was a Doogle Dragon - a very rare and mysterious beast that flew between Neverland and her world, never dying as it was immortal and such.

Wendy dried her tears and no longer needed to be held so close, but she didn't tell him that. She thought it better to savor the fleeting moments she had with Peter than spoil them with trivial things. She clutched the book tightly to her chest. She so missed her family. And the whatever it was that had just nearly killed them was most definitely not from her London.

She saw the huge, looming buildings of the unfamiliar civilization. A gray mist clung to them, giving them a foreboding look. She shivered involuntarily.

"We'd better get down on the ground as soon as possible. Even in this queer world I am sure they're not used to seeing children flying." Wendy whispered softly. "We can land there." She pointed to a flat roof on the top of an apartment building. "We can climb down that ladder there."

The ladder leading down from the roof was an old, thin, iron model. It had probably not been used since its installation. When Peter landed, and righted Wendy on her feet, they anxiously inspected it. If one neglected the large holes in the hollow piping, and large chunks of orange rust that chipped off when one laid a hand on it, it was in jolly condition.

"I don't think we should use the ladder." Peter said, flicking some rust off of his fingers. "Can't we just fly?"

"But what if someone were to see us?" Wendy asked him.

She sat down and began to think.

"A-ha! Peter, you can fly down, but you must pretend to be climbing down the stairs!" Wendy siad joyously, clapping her hands.

"Pretend? And how will you get down?" He asked.

"Why, on your back, of course!" Wendy was still smiling.

Despite the fact that Peter didn't quite comprehend her thoughts at this point, he was still elated that she was smiling.

He nodded, and turned his back toward her.

"We'd better go now, then."

She linked her arms around his neck and hoisted herself up. Once her legs were securely locked around his waist, he brought himself up off the ground a few feet, just to get his bearings. Once he was above the roof top, he began to kick his legs wildly.

Wendy laughed. "What are you doing?"

"Pretending to run." He replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He continued, and once he was on level with the ladder, he stopped kicking his legs and began to wave his arms out in front of him.

Wendy laughed once more. "Pretending to climb down the ladder."

Peter smiled at the sound of her laughter. His heart ached at the thought of losing her, but he knew that that is how it must be.

When they at least reached ground level, they found that their bare feet wouldn't take well to wet streets. They decided to run as fast they could to Kensington Gardens. They were overjoyed to find that they were but three or four blocks from the park.

It began to rain as they were running. I'm sure you can imagine the way this looked. Two soaked children running along in the streets in tattered school uniforms? One would have thought that they were regular street children.

When they reached the gates, they slipped through and made a mad dash for the thicket. The path was even more overgrown than their last visit, and the rain had muddied the trail.

After a sloppy run, their already tattered uniforms were speckled with mud. Of course, the children paid no mind.

They reached the bank, the water they were to jump in filled with muck. Wendy was disgusted, but Peter didn't even notice it. He held her good hand and counted out loud.

On three, they dove in.

Once the initial shock of the icy water had gone, they found themselves struggling to find the door. The rain had made the dirt on the pond floor spring up, clouding the entire area. Peter could barely make out Wendy's gasping form.

He still held her hand as he ran his hand along the floor to find the door handle.

When at last he found it, he swung it open with all of his might.

A splash of cold water and a few seconds later, they found themselves lying breathless in the entryway floor.

A few flittering guards smiled at them, waving them on.

When the two recovered and were able to stand (after all, they nearly drowned), they took the now familiar path to the Fairy Court. When the huge doors opened before them, they were met with thunderous applause.

Now, I must remind you that fairies are the vainest creatures in the world, and even the slightest nod of gratitude is considered extremely unusual. Now, an entire court (dignified, noble fairies, too!) applauding you, that is practically (well, it is entirely) unheard of!

The Fairy Queen rose from her tiny throne. Her large, silver wings fluttered gracefully, carrying her aged body through the air.

When she came within six inches of their faces, she bowed. A collective gasp from the court was audible, then a rustling of fairy silk as they followed suit.

The Fairy Queen spoke, "We are ever most grateful of the task you have completed for us. Without you, we fairies might have been reduced to trolls (I told you that they were vain). How can we repay you?"

Wendy replied quickly, "I would like my London to come back. The world out there is strange and cold. I don't it at all. My family is in my London, and I need to see them."

"Such a simple request. I remember now that that was in our agreement. I'm getting forgetful in my old age. Oh well." Her dainty hand graced her forehead. "Ah, well. It is done."

Wendy clapped her hands joyously, jumping to hug Peter. She stopped herself, then looked sadly at the ground.

"Well, I have repaid you. So it is necessary that you take your leave immediately or else you'll get the 'new Landbom (fairies care little for human civilization)' as you called it." She waved them, then looked over her shoulder and smiled warmly.

"Thank you!" Wendy called as she ran through the doors, Peter trailing slightly behind her.

The children pushed open the heavy door, and a wave of chilly water rushed over them. Wendy had forgotten to take a hold of Peter, and found herself without a breath under the murky water.

She awoke a few minutes later, distasteful pond water spurting from her mouth. Peter was sitting beside her, staring worriedly as she nearly spit the pond water into his face.

"You nearly died, Wendy." Peter said, his voice low and grave. "I couldn't protect you."

"No, nonsense, Peter. That was my own fault." Wendy waved him off and sat up.

She was going to continue, but a sudden rustle in the bushes brought them back to their surroundings.

"We're back!" Wendy whispered excitedly, not quite understanding why she felt the need to whisper.

The grove was as it had been when they had first ran into Kensington Gardens. Snow was on the ground, already turning Peter's toes blue.

Wendy heard a young boy's voice. She would have stayed to investigate, but Peter pulled her aside to the bushes. They crouched low as two figures approached. When the snowy sky let a light shine on the strangers' faces, Peter had to put his hand over Wendy's mouth to keep her from shouting.

When he was sure she wouldn't scream, she turned to him and whispered, "Why, it's us!"

"Yes, I know. I saw them - um, us - um, whatever - when we were first going to see the fairies. I didn't tell you because I was afraid." Peter whispered, keeping one eye on themselves, the other on Wendy.

"Afraid of what?" Wendy asked him, "You knew I would come back to my family all along? Why would you - Look!"

She pointed as the two figures (themselves, really, but it is quite confusing to say so) shimmer with an ethereal glow, then began to fade away. The two figures didn't seem to notice, jumping into the pond soundlessly as they disappeared.

"What happened?" Wendy asked.

"I'm not quite sure. But I think we just...well, I don't rightly know." Peter replied quizzically.

Wendy laughed, "It's good to be home, Peter."

She squeezed his hand, and stood up. He stood up beside her, and they took their leave of the thicket.

Author's Note: Hey guys! I threw this chapter together pretty quickly (over the Thanksgiving holiday at a relatives house) and I hope it satisfies you for now. There is still a chance that I will finish it by Christmas, but I am preparing you for a let down. THIS WILL BE DONE EVENTUALLY!!!

I hope you enojyed this chapter as much as the others. 


	12. Never Never

Wendy screamed in delight as they erupted from the thicket into Kensington Gardens. The snow landed lightly on her hair, forming a crystalline crown on her mousy brown locks.

"Peter, look! The road!" She pointed excitedly, dragging him behind her. "And the buildings! Oh, oh, look, a bobby!"

Peter swallowed hard. He was finding it hard to breathe now, and an unfamiliar clench held tight in his throat. He tried to be happy for her happiness, excited by her glee, but he found himself at an utter loss.

Wendy pulled him to the sidewalk and they continued walking towards her home. She was still gleefully shouting and pointing, completely unaware of his misery.

When they neared her home, Peter tugged on her hand. She turned to him, a look of grief and regret filling her small, girlish face.

"Peter, you know I have..." Her soft voice drifted into silence.

He nodded slowly, and he felt the clench on his throat boiling up into his mouth. He tasted salt, and it took him a moment to realize that he was crying. He felt his heart breaking once more.

"Oh, Peter, you know I don't want to leave you." She whispered, her blue eyes spilling over in tears. "But...but I have to stay with my family. They need me."

"I need you." He said, forcing the words from his mouth as if they were a bitter fruit.

She raised her bandaged hand to his cheek, delicately tracing it with her fingertips. She stood on her tip toes, feeling them curl into the snow as the tiny icicles crept between then. She brushed her lips gently against his for a mere moment. To her, and to Peter, I presume, it was an eternity.

She sniffled, wiping her eyes. He pulled her to his chest, hugging her tightly. They stood there, their lower extremities slowly losing feeling to the chill, for quite some time. She felt his heart beating through his chest, her own heart in synch with his.

He pulled away from her reluctantly, only doing so because he had lost all feeling in his left foot. He grasped her hand tightly in his, and began walking towards her home.

In her mind, she was screaming to herself "No! No!", but she let herself be led, freely sniffling.

When they reached the stoop, his hands began to tremble. His heart felt as it were going to beat out of his chest, and the imaginary fist was once more clenching his throat to near suffocation. She sat down, bringing her down with him.

"Peter, you must know that I will miss you terribly, don't you?" Wendy asked him quietly, a tear falling onto her soiled skirt.

"Yes." He replied as he bit the inside of his lip to keep the lump in his throat at bay.

"And you will miss me?" She said, her voice slightly stronger.

"Of course." The familiar iron taste of blood began to swell on his tongue.

"I think you're going to starve to death." She said, smiling. "You can't even make a proper sandwich!"

He had to smile. She nudged him gently, leaning onto his shoulder.

"I love you, Peter." She whispered, somewhat tentatively. "I don't want you to forget that, please, don't ever forget that."

"I won't." He looked at his near purple toes.

The door was shoved open abruptly and they found themselves nearly underfoot of Tootles and Curly. Tootles' small eyes grew to unimaginable proportions and Curly looked as if he had seen a ghost. Both gasped audibly.

"Mother!" They shouted in unison, turning and running back into the house.

The thunder of numerous footsteps was heard and all of the boys, Nanna, and Mrs.Darling burst from the door. Shouts of glee and relief were heard, some neighbors peering out their windows in disapproval.

"Wendy! Wendy! Peter!" The cacophany of the boys shouts drew more disapproving glances.

Nanna's barking did not help the matter. All the boys were crowding around them, shouting. Each wanted to hug both of the children, as they fought each other for their turn.

Mrs.Darling's eyes were hard as she first glanced Peter standing next to her daughter. She had not quite forgiven him for this offense. Her eyes immediately softened when she saw the tell-tale swelling and redness around his eyes. She parted the boys and took Wendy into her arms. She clutched her tightly to her breast, as most mothers would do if something like this were to happen to their children.

"Wendy. My dear, sweet Wendy." Her mother breathed the words as if they were precious gems.

"Oh, Mother, I missed you so." Wendy whispered, hugging her mother tightly.

Michael grabbed Wendy's broken hand, without realizing it, jerking it for attention. Wendy cried out in pain and Mrs.Darling immediately noticed the damage.

"Come inside, now, everybody come inside." Mrs. Darling ushered the children into the house, Peter lagging behind. She smiled warmly at him. "You, too, Peter."

His face brightened at her welcoming words, and he followed her inside. They went along into the sitting room, where all the boys sat in a circle, ready and waiting for the tale of Peter and Wendy's latest adventure.

"Tell us a story!" Slightly cried.

"Yes, do tell us a story!" Michael chimed in.

"Where have you been?" John asked.

"What adventures have you had?" Nibs asked.

"Were there pirates?" the Twins squeeled in fright at the thought.

"Or...spiders?" Tootles shuddered; he was terribly afraid of spiders.

"Or the Spanish Armada?" Curly was fascinated with the history of everything.

Wendy laughed at her brothers' exuberant questioning. She turned to Peter, hugging her wrist to her chest.

"Why don't you tell them a story?" She asked him - well, she more told him to do it - and he readily complied.

Mrs.Darling rushed back into the sitting room, delicately bringing Wendy's wrist out of the bandage.

"Come, darling. I've already telephoned the doctor." She motioned Wendy into kitchen, grabbing a cloth from a cupboard as she went.

She heaved open a heavy wooden door, revealing an ice block. She chipped at it with the miniature ice-pick in the bin, putting the chips into the cloth. She folded it over tightly and handed it to Wendy.

"Put this on it. It should at least numb it a little." She said, reviewing the damage on her daughter's wrist. "It doesn't look too bad, after all. Did Peter set it?"

"Well, yes, or at least, he tried." Wendy stammered, nervous that her mother would disapprove of Peter's method.

"He did a fine job, it seems." Mrs.Darling smiled, hugging her daughter once more. "I missed you so much, darling. So very much."

"I missed you, too, Mother." She hugged her mother tight, wishing she could tell her of her adventures with Peter, and how much her heart longed for him, but knowing that it was not the correct time, nor the place.

She heard a loud gasp from the sitting. As she and Mrs.Darling walked in, they were just able to hear the last bit of Peter's story.

"-and then Wendy, she cut the evil fairy in half with my sword! Slice!" He made a dramatic sweeping motion with his hands. "She saved my life, you know."

"That was very heroic of her." Mrs.Darling laughed, noting by the bemused expression on her daughter's face that the boy was exaggerating quite a bit.

Wendy joined Peter in the middle of the circle, passing the afternoon telling stories of their adventures. Peter embellished a bit of it, but Wendy did nothing to reveal him. They both omitted the parts that involved the feelings - they blushed even thinking about it - and stuck to a harrowing tale of danger and mystery.

The doctor arrived, and cast Wendy's arm in a goo of plaster in the sitting room, as she and the others listened to Peter tell the story of how Wendy had broken her wrist. Except his version mentioned something about a Doogle Dragon.

Soon after the doctor had taken his leave and the plaster had hardened, Mr.Darling was heard entering the door.

"Dear, have you seen the steps? They look dreadful. I nearly slipped to my death on my way in, covered with ice, they are." He mumbled for a second before coming to a stop in the sitting room entryway. "Oh, hello, children. Really, we ought to do something about the ice."

He stopped for a second, his hat and coat still in mid-air, ready to be hung on the coat-rack.

"Children! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine! Nine children!" He exclaimed happily, seizing Wendy in his grasp and hugging her lightly. "I don't have nine children but I don't care!"

He noticed the cast on her wrist and his eyes glanced suspiciously towards Peter. Mrs.Darling noticed immediately and pulled Mr.Darlilng back.

"George, dear. Peter helped Wendy to set it." She tried to make her voice sound as if it were the greatest accomplishment one could have. "The doctor said it's going to heal just fine."

"I don't like, no, I don't like it at all." Mr.Darling shook his head, frowning. "My daughter runs away with some hooligan and comes back nearly dead! No, don't like it at all."

Mrs.Darling laughed at him.

"Nearly dead, George? It was just a broken bone!" She laughed again, a resonating soprano scattering about the room. "Besides, she's home now."

Wendy watched as her mother led her father into the kitchen. She supposed that her mother was going to tell him how she had returned and make sure that he did nothing to harm Peter or upset Wendy. Wendy watched silently as Peter played with her brothers, laughing and shouting with them like they had when they were all still in Neverland.

She wondered when he would go. Would he leave her in the night, without a goodbye, in the cloak of darkness to cover his ache? No, she spurned herself, he would not do that to her.

The evening was spent telling stories, just as the afternoon had been. When dinner came, everyone was famished, but could eat little due to the excitement in the household.

As bedtime drew nearer, Peter began to look more forlorn. Wendy's heart could not help but swell for him. He was going to miss her, she knew that much.

When the happy evening came to a close, and the boys were in their nightclothes preparing to go to bed, they all seemed eager for Peter to stay with them.

"You can sleep in my bed, Peter." Michael said shyly, holding his hands behind his back.

"Yes, won't you stay?" Slightly asked pleadingly.

"Please?" The Twins chorused.

"I can't stay, you know I don't belong here." Peter said, forcing a smile. "I belong in Neverland, where I can crow all I want!" He let out a loud, long crow.

The boys ran about the nursery attempting to imitate him, but in the end, it sounded as if an entire coop of chickens were being beaten.

After the boys were tucked in and on their way to the Neverland in their dreams, Wendy and Peter sat on opposite ends of her bed.

"I guess you have to go now, don't you?" Wendy asked quietly.

"Yes." Peter whispered, afraid of the answer itself. "I'll try to come back. I really will."

"I know you will, Peter." She smiled sadly at him. "But I'm going to grow up. You'll come to visit me one day and you will find a woman."

"Let's not talk about that now." Peter said, sniffling a little. "I'm going to miss you, Wendy."

"I'll miss you so much, Peter." She sniffled, too, before jumping off her bed. "I have something for you."

She crouched between her and Slightly's beds, pulling a worn wooden box from beneath her bed. She opened it carefully. It was filled with small treasures. He saw the kiss he had first given her (in all actuality, it was an acorn) but he thought it best not to mention it. He saw her pull a slip of thick parchment from the bottom of the box. She shut the lid and slid the box back underneath her bed.

"Here." She handed the paper.

It was thick, a sepia-toned image on the front. It was Wendy.

"It's a picture. Mother and Father had all of our pictures taken right before Christmas." She blushed as Peter gazed at it. "I want you to have it, so you won't forget me."

"I'll keep it forever." Peter said, a full truth evident in his voice.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Wendy leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips. As they parted, she pulled him into a hug, her head resting on his shoulder.

"You should probably go." She said, already beginning to cry.

He didn't reply, but he did get off of the bed. Wendy stood up and walked him to the window. Together, they unlatched the stiff lock and lifted the window. A cold breeze hit them and they both shivered involuntarily. When the window was up all the way, Peter stepped off onto the balcony.

"Goodbye, Peter." Wendy said, tears flowing from her eyes. "I'll miss you."

"I'll come back on every full moon! I swear it!" He said, returning to the window ledge. "I'll miss you, too, Wendy."

He kissed her ever so gently and stepped to the farthest edge of the balcony. Wendy began to close the window.

"Wendy?" He asked.

"Yes, Peter?" She ducked down and stuck her head out of the open part of the window.

"I love you, too." 


End file.
